


Four Leaves

by MelThorn



Series: Blood Brothers [3]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Brother/Brother, Drama, Dramatic Romance, Flandus - Freeform, Gen, Incest relationship, Ireland, M/M, Prequel, Romance, Sheep farming ain't easy, Twincest, brocest, conphy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelThorn/pseuds/MelThorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Continues the storyline and other aspects of the previous two stories in the Blood Brothers series, but also works as a standalone, this tale falls between the first and second films, set in Ireland about half of a year subsequent to the ending of the first movie.</b><br/>Connor and Murphy, adapting to their life in Ireland with their father, Noah, have several duties on the sheep farm they own, but also keep each other busy in other, more intimate ways. When Noah suspects them of their discreet, devious relationship, he encourages them to court a pair of Irish sisters, who have some problems of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A man’s priorities must be identified, his actions well-considered, his feelings organized, and his constitution, no matter how complicated, must remain pure.

That was at least true in Noah MacManus’ opinion. What was “purity” in his eyes, now that he had led his sons further away from a bright light, only to bring forth a torch to their newly blossoming wings? When asked this question of Connor that golden afternoon, his answer delayed. Whatever nonsense he fed to him, he understood that his son wasn’t naïve enough to swallow it.

“How far are we going to take this, Da?” Connor had asked him many months ago, and at the time, he knew what he wanted to hear just from the look of desperation in his eye. In actuality, Noah wasn’t quite sure. Now that Connor and Murphy were in his life, he didn’t want to risk losing them. Vigilantes, unless starring in gritty comic books, didn’t often make it in the end. He knew that firsthand after rotting in prison for so long. That was a fate he didn’t want for them.

Nevertheless, it had been up to them to clean the streets of societal filth, and Noah was forced to fail them on that part. If it hadn’t been for his sons’ actions, he’d still be inside of the Graybar Hotel. He owed his very life to them, and knew that after all Connor and Murphy had been through— having already lost more than one friend— he only had one chance to right the multitude of wrongs that began with his absence. Their acceptance of their murderous nature had been cemented by now, but Noah recalled a time in his life where killing only caused more problems rather than solved them. It was only a matter of time that fate would snag his boys just as suddenly as it did himself.

And so, the best option was to leave. The twins didn’t exactly disapprove. At the prospect of going back home, there was a great rejoicing in their every word and step. It was no secret that they hated Massachusetts, had enough of loss and bitterness, and it was in their happiness that Noah managed to find his own. Though he could sense in them, as well as in himself, that their trigger fingers twitched with hunger for battle, it was the only way he’d keep them safe. Connor and Murphy were foolish at times, but did not lack intelligence. They were also aware of the consequences of staying in Boston.

The spacious plot of land was over a few hundred acres, plenty of room to herd the massive flock of sheep they had collected over the course of half a year. They had first started out with a few of them, only for the family to grow to a bountiful size, enough to make a fair amount of money selling wool and meat, and to add the best ingredient to Connor’s favorite dish. Sheep were docile creatures, easy to maintain, and quick to befriend, especially for Murphy, who was much more vigilant over them than his brother. He had accepted that Connor had to kill one on occasion, but he didn’t have to witness it, or, thankfully, help him.

It was Noah’s brother Sibeal, uncle to Connor and Murphy, who provided the land to them, a much obliged gift that they returned with home-cooked meals whenever he came by. He was also kind enough to take them to church every weekend, and to town for supplies and trade, as well as the usual haircut. Sibeal was more than just an uncle to the twins, but a good family friend that loaned an ear whenever they needed to speak about their past— and speak, they certainly did.

Though the cottage was small, the three of them didn’t require much, and the minimal indoor space wasn’t a problem. Noah wasn’t a material man, and his sons were low-maintenance. The only thing they needed was a radio to keep in touch with the outside world, and for music, which in Noah’s mind was of questionable quality, but if it kept them happy, he was all for it.

That late spring afternoon, the air was rich with warmth and sunlight, and it was as good a time as any to shear the ewes, which was a lesson Connor took to in the first days he was taught, but Noah advised that Murphy learn how as well. Murphy was a quick learner, but trimming fleece ended up being more of a struggle than he perceived. The ewe he worked on was stubborn, and wouldn’t lie still, kicking at his shins and knees. As much as he liked animals, they seemed not to enjoy his presence very much.

“Fuckin’ hell!” he sighed, aggravated and exhausted, allowing the sheep to stagger to its feet and rush off. “I give up, fer fuck’s sake.”

At a distance, Connor and Noah watched his progress from the porch bench they sat upon. With a deep, hearty chuckle, Noah said, “You’d better go help yer brother.”

Connor’s brow curled. “Ya didn’t answer my question.”

“Is somethin’ troublin’ you, Connor?”

He hunched forward, rubbing his palms together. “Troublin’ meh? No. I just wanted yer opinion, is all.”

Noah struck his back with a clap of the hand, then, “Opinions are best left kept sacred.”

Now confused, Connor dropped the subject. All he wanted to know was his father’s view on their previous life, and if he still thought they were righteous in the eyes of God. If he didn’t believe that, perhaps he shouldn’t either.

Rising out of his seat, he ventured off into the wide open, emerald and goldenrod field where Murphy was wiping sweat from his forehead, holding the shears in his dominant right hand, which was labeled with a Latin tattoo. Seeing Connor approach, Murphy sighed with relief.

“Oh, t’ank God.” As he always did, he swapped an enchanting smile with him. “Would ya…?” He held the shears out, waiting for them to be taken.

Connor raised his palm at him. “No. But I’ll help ya.”

“Oh, come on. Yer better den I am at it, we both know it.”

“Dat’s why I’m gonna teach ya.”

With a grunt, Murphy nodded. “Fine.”

First, Connor gathered the ewe into the barn, followed by Murphy, who watched his every move. Second, Connor waved him over and showed him the position in which to hold the sheep down, and where to drag the blade shears for cutting. With his brother’s help, he managed it a lot better than before, and after clipping off the fleece of a few of the ewes, he got the pattern down.

Connor complimented him on his job, and Murphy beamed with pride. “We’d better go get de rest of dem.” After going through the arduous process of saddling the horses, they both mounted the brown geldings and rode father out to the fields where the remaining sheep were grazing. Flanking the flock, they guided them back toward home, Connor humming to himself all the while, Murphy smoking a rolled cigarette.

With the sheep back in the barn, they went to work shearing them all until a considerable amount of wool was harvested in extensive, heavy sheets, which they would eventually sell to varying hand-spinners. The process took the greater part of the afternoon, and by the time the sun set, their mouths were parched and stomachs growling.

Over a roaring fire, which they sat around in a semi-circle, they munched on the dinner Noah had cooked while he told them amusing stories about his relationship with their mother, and how much of a handful she was at times. Each tale Noah told them was better than the last, and almost always involved alcohol. Connor, in turn, told their father of how much she loved to play jokes on them, and how insane those jokes sometimes were.

“I can see where ya both get it from,” realized Noah.

Connor sipped from a bottle of frosted lager before saying, “I t’ink she did it to cope wit’ losin’ ya.”

“Aye. That could very well be. She always did have a… weird way o’dealin’ wit’ serious issues.”

“Tell ‘im about de time she tried to fool us into believin’ she was gonna shoot herself,” added Murphy.

Connor’s brow folded. “I was tryin’ to avoid dat particular story. Maybe it was because my balls hurt so much at de time, but de whole t’ing was just… painful.”

“Sure, when it was happenin’. Afterwards it was pretty funny.”

“No. No, it wasn’t.”

Noah wanted to change the subject. Though he was glad to have Connor and Murphy in his life now, they couldn’t tell Annabelle of their reunion, because they’d then have to explain everything else that led up to it. He was sure Connor and Murphy also had little interest in letting her know that they were practiced, ritualistic killers; that only mere months ago they went on a murder spree across the streets of Boston.

“Sibeal knows a few young ladies from the hand-spinners Guild,” Noah informed them. “He says they’re interested in the wool if it’s good grade. It should be, because you boys take such good care of the sheep.” Despite not stating this as a question, he still wanted affirmation, asking for it by raising his eyebrow.

“Aye,” they murmured over the crackling fire as their eyes wandered to and from the ground and skies. Stray embers popped during their silence.

With a huff of derision, Noah added, “Not distracted, or anythin’.”

They both shook their heads. “No,” chuckled Connor.”

“What would we be distracted about?” wondered Murphy.

“Oh… I dunno. As hard as ya both work, I get the sense there are other things on yer minds. I know we left a lot behind when comin’ home…”

“Don’t worry, Da. We get shit done. We’ll be all ‘ight.”

Assuming this was the extent of the details he’d receive, Noah accepted that the conversation was to be concluded. “Good, very good. I’m goin’ to turn in for the night. The two of you can sweep up in the barn and discard the fleeces we can’t use.”

At Noah’s departure, the twins bid him good evening and walked to the barn, where Connor proceeded to sweep the floors while Murphy threw away stray bits of wool. The silence was unbearable, but they were at a loss for words, as they only seemed to complicate things that didn’t need picking over. Finished with the sweeping, Connor approached the workbench that stretched across the back wall, at a distance from the pens, where he switched on the portable radio and scanned through the stations. He stopped when one fizzing, hissing channel came in with instrumental music, and he fiddled with the antenna to get it to come in clear. When the sound had reached perfection, and the deep pitch of a tenor saxophone blared through the metallic speakers like a jazz musician caught in a can, Connor nodded with approval and turned a smirk toward Murphy.

Murphy could sense his brother’s smile, and without intention, mimicked it. Now that the floors had been cleaned of both dirt and fleece alike, Murphy joined him at the workbench to roll a couple of cigarettes for them while that saxophone belted out note after note. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connor pull his shirt over his head and throw it onto the bench. His bare chest pulled Murphy’s eyes to it, magnetized by the sight despite having seen it many times. Connor enjoyed it when he played none-the-wiser, hard to get, so that was how Murphy played it—by sticking his nose in the air and pretending to ignore it.

Connor strutted behind Murphy in the same manner a predator stalks its prey, watching his intricate handiwork as he rolled the cigarette paper over the tobacco. “Gettin’ good at dat,” he praised, looming over his back and leaning forward.

Murphy suppressed the charmed, flattered grin that desired to part his lips as he spoke in a near-whisper. “T’anks.”

“I remember de first one ya rolled. Looked and tasted like shit.”

“Yeh, well, I had a terrible teacher.”

“Ay. Dat’s not a nice t’ing to say about yer bro’ter.”

“Maybe I’m not in de mood fer playin’ nice.” He licked the paper, bringing it to a close in a perfect cylinder around the ripe tobacco.

“Good. Nei’ter am I.” While standing behind him, he reached forward on either side of him and flattened both hands upon the surface of the table, and Murphy’s work instantly stopped, knowing what was coming. Connor surprised him from time to time, but he always knew what went on his head—not that he had any complaints, as the very same thoughts had been rushing around his mind for several of the bluest days in existence. They had been waiting almost three weeks for the opportunity. Their father was always hovering around, watching them, making sure they completed jobs on time and did them like professionals. The well-being of the sheep needed almost twenty-four hour, round-the-clock care, even while they were grazing, and the two of them hadn’t found time for each other, intimate or not.

In that moment, the conditions were perfect: dim lighting; sheep quiet, clean, and asleep; smooth music stroking the air with each slow beat; nighttime air cooled as a fresh rainstorm rolled in; and they were alone at last, all alone, without Noah prying with his million questions and making a million demands. They could finally relax, and now that the time had arrived, neither of them could wait for it to begin.

Murphy let out a lustful sigh when Connor’s mouth met his neck and his hands coursed underneath his shirt, tracing his spine and ribs. He raised his arms, letting him lift his black T-shirt off, his loins clenching at the sensation of his palms sneaking around his waist to stroke his stomach and claw his chest, all while he dragged his lips and tongue around all sides of his neck. Connor’s hips pressed against his backside, and Murphy had to laugh at the sudden jab he felt against his rear as his concealed erection poked him.

It didn’t take Connor long to start unbuttoning Murphy’s jeans, still standing behind him with his chest mashed against his sweating back, his nostrils tickled by his many trimmed follicles as they danced over his nose and mouth. Murphy stood still as his brother dragged his jeans to his ankles, which he took a step out of, and shivered when he yanked his boxers down along with them. Connor didn’t stand until he nipped at Murphy’s ass cheeks a few times, which he giggled at, then swatted at him, hearing his voice collide with his own in harmonious laughter.

Rising to his feet, Connor placed his dominant left hand upon Murphy’s back and pressed on it, his breaths quick and his tone full of fiery lust. Murphy took his direction without words and leaned forward over the bench, looking over his shoulder at his brother, who wiped drool from the corner of his mouth. Then he ducked out of sight, and Murphy raised his head to get a better view of him. That’s when he felt it— warmth, wetness, and vibrations, all in the cleft of his ass, and all concurrently incredible.

Murphy, succumbing to ecstasy, quivered and rested his cheek against the wood of the bench as Connor’s skilled tongue tiptoed over his taint, releasing a powerful moan of approval. Then, another, and another, each growing higher and louder as the writhing, saliva-coated muscle snaked onto his sphincter and twisted around in circles.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice down. “ _Fuckin’ hell, Connor… aw, shit…_ ”

Satisfied with his work, and the pleased reaction, Connor rose to a standing position, turning Murphy around to face him, striking the front of his neck in the same manner he did his ass, sucking on it hard enough to create hickeys. Overcome with desire, Connor tore his jeans off so fast that Murphy heard a seam rip, his boxers meeting a similar fate. Then he pushed Murphy onto the bench, lifting his brother’s legs and guiding them to wrap around his waist. When he penetrated him, they both crowed with similar sounds, ones of immediate relief and fiery, unbridled passion that had been boiling and stewing for weeks on end.

Connor started out slow— doting and affectionate— which Murphy enjoyed above anything else, but he had been waiting so long for a moment like this that he felt it would tear him to pieces and make him explode if they waited any longer to share one of his favorite moments he often did with him—and that was their effervescent, mind-numbing climaxes.

“ _Harder,_ ” he begged, tightening his legs around Connor.

“I don’t want to finish yet,” his brother warned. “I don’t know when we’re going to get to do dis again.”

“ _Well… if yer not man enough…_ ” He stuck out his bottom lip, a grin shaping into place.

Glowing with searing flames, glaring with stubbornness, Connor shoved his hips against Murphy’s ass, a resonating smack echoing off the walls as Murphy hissed and groaned at the wonderful sting that followed. Following that, he slammed into him a few more times, Murphy’s cries of simultaneous elation and agony building his yearning even further to incomprehensible heights. Then he picked up the speed, and before long, he was rapid-fucking him so hard that items on the bench began to topple over and fall to the ground.

Murphy bit down on his balled up fist to prevent from screaming in the throes of pleasure, and Connor nipped at Murphy’s neck to keep himself under control, but nothing would hold back his voice when the conclusion to their play would come barreling forward out of nowhere. It was then that any squeals they tried to contain flowed forth in a river of obscenities. Each gasp, every grunt, and every call of the other’s name scaled in volume and length as they were eager to express just how wonderful it was to finally do what they had been craving to.

“ _Oh fuck, I’m gonna--!”_ Clutching at handfuls of Murphy’s short hair, he groaned as he unloaded inside of him, and let out a howl of bliss. Murphy, who had been jerking off during the entire encounter, hollered in solidarity with his brother as his ending arrived at the same moment in time, slamming his head back against the bench and squeezing his eyes shut. Connor collapsed, Murphy collapsed, and they gave each other some time to breathe.

When the smoke cleared, and they regained their energy, Connor kissed Murphy’s face, feeling him smile. Murphy traded a few kisses with him before Connor slipped away, staggering like a drunk as he walked. He had to stop every few steps to pant and wheeze.

“I t’ink ya broke meh,” he told Murphy, who cackled.

“Maybe yer just a wimp.”

“Go fuck yerself,” Connor scolded as he stepped underneath the shower and started it. Murphy slid off of the bench and also ducked under the falling water.

“I told ya, dat’s what I have you for.”

“Funny. T’ought ya had meh to do all de work yer too lazy to do.”

Murphy snickered and shoved him. “Fuck off.”

Connor stumbled, but smirked. “Now dat’s just unprofessional.” He gave him a few more kisses, which he sighed to with delight.

After rinsing, drying off, and dressing, they retired to the house, where they saw their father was still awake and sitting at the wooden table that took up most of the room. Both Connor and Murphy screeched to a halt when they saw him sitting by a crackling fire, sipping tea, smacking his lips, and averting his eyes.

Connor was the first of them to speak. “Da?”

In the wake of a brief, however uncomfortable silence, Noah looked upon Connor, dazed. “All finished, are ya.”

“Aye…”

“Good.”

Murphy took an uneasy step back away from their father. Connor scratched the back of his neck, fighting off an insect bite he got earlier. “Is dere… some’tin’…?”

“What’s that, Connor?”

“ _Wrong?_ ”

Noah once again turned away, giving the fire a lengthy gaze. “I’m not sure. Is there?”

This question pierced their ears, for it carried a tone of accusation, and they were burned by the heat of his spotlight. “I… I don’t… know what yer askin’.”

“Da, are ya mad at us?” intervened Murphy when the tension rolled to an awful thickness.

His grizzly, silver beard and flowing strands of grayed hair swayed as he shook his head. “Not mad, no.” He sipped from the steaming tin cup that he clenched in his hands. “Just… a little tired. That’s all. Couldn’t sleep.”

“How come?” Connor dared to ask, though he wished he hadn’t.

“The sounds of night were a bit too loud, I’m afraid.”

Each brother swallowed, their throats clenching and drying up. They knew they were being noisy, but _that_ noisy? It was possible, considering they had been waiting ages to have the moment together and perhaps got a little too wild. Still, they didn’t think their father would be awake to hear them, let alone hear them all the way from the cottage.

“O-oh,” stammered Connor, he and Murphy trading worried expressions. “Y-yeah, dat… dat happens sometimes.”

“Aye,” sighed Noah. “You’d both better get some rest. Got some work to do tomorrow.”

They nodded in unison and passed the table to go down the hall. Connor glanced at his father one more time as they crossed the room, and their eyes met. He lowered his to the floor to hide his shame, but it was too late. Noah had seen it there, just as clearly as he had seen the hope in them when they met for the first time.

Noah had dealt with so many of life’s harsh lessons in his time on earth: the murder of his father, the killing of La Cosa Nostra, leaving Annabelle in fear that danger would befall her and their sons, and Louie’s betrayal—but he had never had to face such a complex issue as this. There were many things he never understood, though he tried his very best. However, whatever it was that his twin sons had with one another was ultimately the most confusing and complex puzzle that no matter how he tried to piece together, simply wouldn’t fit. It was not only a mystery, but one of the worst kind of sins, and not the behavior meant for Saints.

Still, Noah knew that in large part, his absence might have contributed to such things. What else could he expect of them, but to find a way to cope with their situation by making the best of it? It was possible that they just hadn’t met the right women yet, and there would be plenty of opportunities for that if he let them expand their horizons a little. Before now, he would have advised against settling down and marrying due to their profession, but he was under the assumption that they would never go back to the states. If they were prepared to stay in Ireland, he supposed that it was the best time to start over.

He hadn’t forgotten that his sons were in their late twenties, adults that could make their own choices, but even grown men could use guidance once in a while.

 

Murphy stared at the ceiling, his hands tucked behind his head, as he processed what just happened. He looked at Connor on the bed at the opposite end of the room. He was turned away from him on his side, facing the wall, but he hadn’t yet fallen asleep. Somehow, Murphy knew he was awake.

“Ya t’ink he knows?”

Connor rolled over a quarter of the way, enough to get a good view of him. “Certainly seemed dat way, didn’t it?”

“What do we do?”

He sat up and dragged his hands over his face, heaving out a troubled sigh. “I dunno, Murph. He seemed disturbed, but… not angry. Maybe he’ll get past it. Or he might not know any’tin’. We don’t know fer sure.”

“I don’t want him to…” He clamped his incisors onto his bottom lip. “To hate us.”

“He won’t. At least… I hope not. And if he does… well, dere’s no’tin’ we can really do.”

That was wrong, of course, as Murphy contemplated. There was something they could do: end their relationship. That, at this point, seemed like too outrageous an option. After all they had been through, they required that closeness. It was one of the lasting aspects of their happiness, and giving it up might drive them a bit over the edge. They kept each other distracted from depressing thoughts, and darker moods.

“Don’t worry about it,” Connor comforted as he lied back down onto his back. “It’ll be all ‘ight.”

For now, Murphy ignored the doubt in his voice and accepted his words. After all, they had seen far worse destruction, and nothing could get much worse than what they had already suffered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for the delay, guys!**   
>  _A few weeks ago, my spouse caught a virus. I, in turn, also caught it. We were both sick for what seemed like forever. Then I had to catch up on working on my novel, editing it and preparing it for publishing. Then I started getting stuck knee-deep in research on marketing to promote the book. Then I bought myself an electric guitar, and I'm receiving Rocksmith tomorrow. Then I started studying how to use a new art program I got. In other words, I've been a busy bee, but Connor and Murphy's saga hadn't left my mind. I wanted to get back to them and their spicy, dramatic relationship, but kept putting it off for more important things. Now that I have a bit of free time, I'm able to get back to it. So here it is! Chapter two, where awkwardness reaches new heights._

Mornings on the sheep farm weren’t considered normal unless Connor and Murphy were ripped awake by the sound of Noah’s makeshift alarm using a dinner bell and irritating persistence. On any other day, Noah would have stopped after ten seconds, assuming the twins got the hint, but that day started out a bit on the awkward side when they realized that his intention was not only to wake them, but also to annoy them—and possibly to interrupt whatever sin they might have been engaging in.

It was Connor who rose first, yawning and rolling out of his bed, his limbs guiding his blinded vision as the first rays of sunlight streamed into the room. Murphy had a tougher time getting up, as always, and it took a light shake from Connor to get the point across that dawn was upon them. Even as he attempted to nudge his resting brother out of bed, the ringing continued, and it was all he could take. He yanked on a pair of jeans and threw a tattered work shirt over his chest, and rushed for the door.

“Da, fer fuck’s sake!” he shouted as he ripped the door open. “We’re gettin’ up, okay?!”

There stood Noah, lowering his hands, fashioning as civil a glare as one could manage to be. “Watch your tone with meh, Connor.”

“I… m’sorry. S’just… we get de point.”

A weary sigh escaped him. “Why is your brother still in bed?”

“I’ll… I’ll get ‘im.” Not one foot entered the bedroom before his father cut him short.

“Better let me take care of it. Why don’t ya go start packin’ up the wool for the hand-spinners?”

Connor could have sworn he had taken care of that the night before, but if his father wanted him out of his hair, perhaps walking away was the best course of action, in spite of the confusion regarding how immature their father made them feel. Just how old did he take them for? Whatever he and Murphy wanted to do together, it was their business and theirs alone. Convincing their patriarch of that fact was not as easy as he would like, though.

While hauling the bags of wool out of the barn and into the yard, as he wasn’t sure what else his father wanted him to do with it, he waited for Murphy’s emergence. He wondered, or rather dreaded, what type of conversation he and Noah were having inside of the house. Murphy could be talked into or even out of anything if the influencer was clever enough, and he didn’t want to think of how his brother might either turn against him or abandon his passions for him in the threat of losing their father over it. He didn’t believe Murphy to be so impulsive with such feelings, but he had been proven wrong about him before, and not just with their prior companionships.

At long last, Murphy came out of the cottage, dragging his heels and hanging his head, his hands tucked away inside of the pockets of his ripped, faded jeans. Connor feared the worst, worried that Noah might have talked him into having a “discussion” with him about their deviant nature. However, when Murphy approached him, Connor was relieved to see him smile, and even more comforted when he sneaked him a discreet kiss to the mouth. Perhaps, Connor thought, Murphy was stronger than he gave him credit for.

“Need help?” offered Murphy, whose eyes could hardly stay open.

“M’already finished. Don’t even know why he told meh to do it, to tell ya de truth.”

“I know why he did.” He didn’t elaborate, not that he needed to.

“W-what’d he say to ya?”

“No’tin’.” When his stubble-coated lip twitched, Connor knew he was lying.

“He must’ve said some’tin’.”

“Forget it, Connor.”

Forget it, he would not, but he would drop it for now. It became clear to the MacManus brothers after a couple of hours passed that it was not necessary for the two of them to get up so early. Most chores had been taken care of, and breakfast hadn’t even been ready. Noah hadn’t emerged from the house since they spoke to him an hour ago, and it was believed that he wouldn’t do so all morning unless he could help it. Neither one of them knew how to address or handle the situation. It was unlike any they had been in before.

The sun’s rays at last peaked over the horizon as it struggled to rise, and Connor and Murphy passed the time with conversation that they tried to make as casual as possible. Then, just as they had made plans to herd the sheep out to pasture, a silver car rolled up the long, muddy road toward the cottage and barn. Inside of it were two women they had never met before. They were both brunette, pale in complexion, and shared similar facial features. When they stepped out of the vehicle, they saw that one was taller and older than the other, but both were in their age range.

“Who’re dey?” whispered Murphy to his twin, who could only shrug in response.

As if to answer their question, the older, taller one spoke. “I’m Fianna. This is my sister, Deirdre. We’re the hand-spinners you wanted?” On the final note of her last word, her soft eyes secured on Murphy’s young face, which was bearing a nervous smirk. Her glazed lips crept upward. “Your father called us. That time of year, eh?”

“We have a phone?” Connor uttered beneath his breath.

Murphy pondered, “Ya know us?” Clearly, the mystery of the telephone bothered him none.

“Know your father,” explained Deirdre. “Or, more accurately your father knows our father. And our father’s brother.”

“Goes to the pub with ‘em,” Fianna carried on with a nod.

“Da goes to de pub?” answered an increasingly curious Connor, whose nose had by now scrunched into a curl.

“Not for long, I’m afraid.”

“Where’s he find time fer dat?” This time, he was only asking himself, but Murphy joined in on his befuddled conversation while scratching his head.

“Maybe he goes when we’re sleepin’.”

“Oh, aye. He just rides on down to town on horseback, does he? We don’t have a damn car!”

“You come up with ano’ter explanation, den.”

“We were here about the fleeces?” Fianna interrupted them, recognizing a quarrel in the making when seeing one.

Connor brushed the front of his shirt to straighten it, though it refused to obey his demands. “Right. How much are ya payin’ again?”

“Forty cent per kilogram.”

Connor’s eyebrows lifted toward the tufts of his reddish-brown hair. “Forty C? Dat’s half of what we usually sell it for.”

“That’s not what your father told us,” squeaked Deirdre, eyes darting to and fro.

At this point, Connor had some idea of what was happening, as opposed to his twin, who could only stand and contemplate the anomaly. He wondered now what else their father let them in on about their lifestyle. “I’m gonna ask ‘im some questions.” Murphy started to follow, but Connor held a hand up to him, asking him to wait there. He didn’t wish to explain in front of the sisters, but Noah might not be in the mood to see both him and Murphy in the same space.

After his entry into the cottage, Noah, who had been sitting at the table, once again drinking a cup of tea, turned his eyes to his son without lifting his head. “Connor?”

Connor tamed the grimace that compelled the muscles in his face to twitch. “Dere are hand-spinners here dat say dey know you? And dey’re offerin’ only forty C for de wool. What’s goin’ on? What happened to de Brodys?”

“I forewent the Brodys this time, Connor.”

“Da… ya realize we lose money if we sell to dese women.”

“Money isn’t important, son.” Noah rose from his seat, setting his cup upon the table. Each step he took toward him, Connor took one backward. “We have plenty.”

“Are ya jokin’? We eat out of _cans_.”

“You’re welcome to get a job in town. Your brother could pick up your slack here just fine.”

Connor was astounded, and in a word, impressed, at his father’s ability to strike where he was most sensitive. His talent and prowess as a killer was no wonder to him. Whatever it was he was doing, he was going about it with a method too crafty for him to outwit. “No. I don’t want to leave…” He paused when he felt Murphy’s name touch the tip of his tongue. “Ya both.”

“Then you’re goin’ to have to deal with it. Now then… I’ll get ya better acquainted with our new buyers.” Connor ducked out the door to avoid his father’s nearing proximity and bounded back to Murphy, who had been nervously killing time with the daunted ladies on their lawn.

“Hello, Fianna, Deirdre,” greeted Noah, who didn’t even give a passing glance to his other son. They returned their own pleasantries. “Allow me to formally introduce to you my sons, Connor and Murphy.”

“Pleasure,” sighed Fianna, holding her long, thin hand out to Murphy in particular.

Murphy could only think to stare at it for a few moments. “Aye.” When he did reach for her hand, she grasped it and turned it over, palm-up, then stared into it, unblinking. Growing uncomfortable, Murphy cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other. “Oh my. You have a very sordid past, don’t you?”

“I… m’sorry?”

“Fianna is a palm-reader,” said Deirdre. “A good palm-reader, at that.”

“Can she read my palm and see dat it’s missin’ ano’ter forty C a kilo?” complained a passive-aggressive Connor.

Noah’s dry throat hissed, “ _Connor._ ”

“ _Sorry,_ ” he sneered to Fianna, whose returning look was just as unpleasant.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Murphy asked, “What else do ya see dere?”

Fianna inspected it closer. “Hm. You’re in a relationship.”

He yanked his hand away, leaving Fianna puzzled. “You can tell dat?!”

“I can tell anything.”

“Ya… ya can’t tell with _who_ , right?”

“That, I’m afraid, is left for interpretation. It’s too bad, though. You’re cute.”

Connor removed a cigarette from his pocket when he felt the haunting eyes of his father land on his face. “Dis is interestin’ and all, but are ya gonna buy de fleeces or not?” Murphy shrank at the sound of jealousy in his callous words.

“Of course. Deirdre?”

Deirdre reached into her pocket with slow hands, her meek eyes upon the ground as she removed the wallet within it. She showed the cash to the brothers, but held it out of reach. “Show us.”

Connor, grumbling all the way, opened the bags of fleeces and presented the wool to the ladies, who checked it and approved of its quality. Once they were satisfied, they paid the MacManuses in full. Connor accepted that there was little he could do about how much they now charged. Noah seemed determined to keep it this way. It made absolutely no sense to him what went on in his head, though he was certain he didn’t understand what went on between him and Murphy.

“I was just sayin’ to Fianna the other day,” Noah brought up when the transaction was complete. “How she and her sister were such a good match for my boys. The two of ya could use a little break from workin’ so hard. Why don’t ya take these lovely ladies out for a drink tonight?”

 _So now we get to the real reason we’re making half as much as we normally do,_ Connor realized. _Have to hand it to you, da. You’re clever._

“Out?” repeated Murphy. “Ya don’t seriously mean—”

Connor grunted, “A date.”

“Heh. Dis is awkward…”

“Ya don’t fuckin’ say.”

Fianna waved her hand at the two of them, turning her nose toward the sky. “That would be a bit pressuring, don’t you think, Mister MacManus?”

Noah seemed to have hit a road block, having not expected that response. “I don’t see how. I know my boys have been cooped up here far too long. The farm life… it’s gettin’ to them. They need to get out more.”

“ _Really, da?_ ” Connor whispered to his better. “ _De farm life? Dat’s what ya t’ink it is?_ ”

“Really.”

“I t’ink we’re actually pretty comfortable with de way we live,” corrected Murphy.

“Well, I’m not.” With the following silence, the two women studied the three of them as though they prepared to write a thesis later on. Connor and Murphy’s heads bowed in bereavement, mourning the loss of their dignity. “That is… I can’t stand to see ya trapped up here with nothin’ to do. It’d be better for the two of ya to spread your wings a little and… see other places.”

“Ya mean ‘other people’,” correct Connor at a pitch he knew only Murphy heard.

“They’ve had a bit of a difficult path,” he assured the ladies, who by now were ready to escape with their bodies still in one piece. This whole family ritual seemed bizarre. “They need a bit of attention. Forgive them for not offering, as I’m sure they’ve forgotten their manners.”

Deirdre could see that remaining silent would only lead to further awkwardness. “That’s quite all right, Mister MacManus. It’s clear that they… aren’t really very interested.”

“I refuse to go out with a man who isn’t already available, anyhow,” Fianna made clear in her bold and feminine tone.

Noah had himself a chuckle. “Murphy is just shy around women. He’s not in any sort of… relationship.” Murphy kept his eyes hidden from Fianna in the event she noticed the secrets hiding in them.

“Are you saying I was incorrect when I read his palm? I assure you… my skills are accurate.”

There was an uneasy pause in the strange conversation, to which Noah couldn’t respond to without careful thought. “No, not incorrect.”

“Then I’m afraid we have no more business here, do we?”

Seeing that his plan was backfiring tremendously, and that his sons were beginning to feel the first fresh breeze of incoming relief, he uttered, “I’m only sayin’ you’re _partially_ correct.”

“Da, she says she doesn’t wanna,” Murphy interjected. “What more do ya want from her?”

“Fine, fine.” He sighed, clueless as to how to go about the situation now that his plot had fallen to pieces. “I just thought the two of you might understand the gravity of our particular situation… and how it might affect where you’ll be staying.”

Deirdre spoke up before either one of them could question the hollowness of that threat. “With all due respect… you seem creepy, anyway.”

Connor, who had no interest in speaking to either of them before now, asked, “ _Creepy?_ ”

“Just a little. No offense.”

“M’sorry… what about us is creepy?”

Deirdre’s mouth curled, and she twiddled her thumbs, which looked threadbare and overworked. “Oh… you know… living way out in the middle of nowhere with no car… in a cottage… it’s sort of a life you’d expect of a serial killer.”

A scoff wafted from Connor’s distended mouth, ready to protest, but found that he couldn’t when understanding that on some level, she was right. “All ‘ight. Fair enough. I assure ya, though— we’re all stuffin’ inside.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at that comment. “I’m sure you are, Mister MacManus.”

“Connor.”

“All right. Connor.”

“Tell ya what.” At these three words, Murphy’s back stiffened and his every muscle tightened. He wasn’t really going to go through with it, was he? “Murph and I will take you ladies out fer a good time tonight. But I can’t promise we don’t get on the rowdy side after a pint… or several.”

Fianna’s gaze hardened at the sudden alteration in plans. Deirdre might have been won over by it, but she wasn’t foolish enough. “Sure changed your mind quick, Connor.”

“Yeah, _Connor,_ ” agreed Murphy.

After shooting Murphy a look, he said, “Well, our fa’ter’s right. It’s time we got a little breathin’ room. I don’t see de harm.”

Releasing a bothered, and albeit frustrated sigh, Fianna nodded. “Okay, then. If that’s what you wish. We'll pick you up at eight, that is, if Mister MacManus doesn't object.”

“Not a problem," confirmed Noah.

“Great. We’ll see you then.” Unlike her bubbling, ecstatic sister, Fianna turned her back on them in bemusement. Whatever it was they were hiding, she had ways of finding out. Until then, she’d be on her guard, as well as her sister’s.

The moment their vehicle was out of sight, beyond the glowing horizon, Noah nodded in condescending approval and returned to the house. Murphy didn’t look at Connor for some time, and Connor didn’t have the nerve to speak.

It must have been a least of minute of silence before either of them said anything, but when Murphy did, Connor anticipated it. “What de fuck was dat all about, Connor?!”

He couldn’t bear to look at his brother now, as he could already picture that look on his face: that look of adolescent fury brewed with indecision and hurt. The last time he saw it was when Rocco was killed. It was too much for him.

“M’sorry. I had to t’ink of some’tin’. If it really is dat obvious we’re so strange… we can’t tell people every’tin’ about us.”

“I’m not an idiot, all ‘ight? I know dat!”

“We have to keep up de illusion we’re normal. We can’t have people suspectin’ us of killin’. Doesn’t matter if dat’s what we do. We’re de only ones dat’ll understand it.”

With a rough shake of the head, Murphy paced around him as the entered the barn. “M’not dating her just to convince dem. M’not doin’ it.”

“No one said ya had to date her, Murph. Just try to act casual, all ‘ight?”

“And how long must I ‘act’ dat way, huh?! How long will it go on before dey find out de truth anyway?!”

Flustered at the discussion, he turned his aggravated eyes to his infuriated, worked up brother. “I don’t know! We’re just goin’ to have to take it in stride. Play it by ear, dat sort o’t’ing.”

Murphy was forced to accept that, no matter how little sense it made. He knew as well as Connor did that they were out of options, and that the last resort would be returning to America, where they were unwanted anyhow. “Connor… dat Deirdre girl. She couldn’t take her eyes off ya.”

“Are ya really worried about dat?”

“I _wasn’t._ Not dat I blame her, or nothin’.”

In spite of the seriousness of their talk, he laughed, then pulled Murphy into an embrace, where he eased into comfort. “She’s not my type. Don’t be concerned. It’s gonna be totally casual. All of it.”

A sigh, then, “Okay.”

When he felt Murphy calm down, he pecked his mouth. “I just hope we don’t completely fuck dis up.”

_It’s not only da’s wrath I’m worried about._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before writing this chapter, I realized in the previous one that I made a mistake by Fianna asking the twins to come and pick them up when I made clear more than once that they didn't own a car. After facepalming, I made a slight change in the previous chapter, and the sisters are now picking up Connor and Murphy, and not on a horse.

Connor had little idea of what went into preparing for a date, especially in one meant for the sole purpose of keeping appearances. Should he even bother taking a shower? Would he need money? At this stage in his life, he had no clue as to what women found acceptable, or presentable. Murphy was no more skilled in the area than he was, as evidenced by his perpetual pacing and repetitive questions. Connor could never give him an affirmative answer to any of them, for he had just as many.

“Rocco had girlfriends,” Connor recalled, tasting lemons when Donna entered his memory.

Murphy snorted. “He wasn’t exactly a ladies’ man. You remember dat dancer he groped.”

“Yeah, but he had some idea as to what dey wanted. What was it dat he said to ya? ‘If yer not lookin’ down dere shirt, ya aren’t really lookin’ at ‘em’?”

Remembering Rocco’s finesse, or rather, lack thereof, Murphy shared a chuckle with him. “De only way I’m lookin’ down her shirt is if I spill alcohol in it.”

“Spoken in de true MacManus, spirit, bro’ter.”

Out of sight of their father, they took a shower together, enjoying whatever was left of their freedom, however long it would last. Knowing their time was limited, they weren’t able to advance to a more intimate moment, but they did make the most of it by washing each other. Having to go the rest of the evening without being able to touch one another might end up being a trial worse than they speculated, but it was one they’d have to deal with.

Their dresser didn’t provide much in terms of formal clothing, but they suspected they wouldn’t be judged for their lack of preparation for a date forced on them. Fianna and Deirdre could hardly blame them for showing up to their little event in worn jeans and T-shirts, if that was all they had.

While waiting for their ride, they passed time by checking to see if the daily chores were completed, though at this rate, they were sure it mattered very little to their father whether they had done them or not. Sweeping the barn and feeding the sheep made little difference if Noah didn’t want them in the same room alone together.

That same silver car from earlier appeared in the drive, and when the twins saw the headlights beacon the soggy yard, they exchanged a pained glance. _Here we go,_ they thought, simultaneously. The first to make any sort of move was Fianna, who stepped out of the driver’s side of the vehicle, her long, oak hair swinging like a pendulum across her back, which was bare down to the shoulder blades. Her makeup was light, violet in color, and her top and skirt restricting.

“Evening, boys,” she hailed, beaming with youth and pride.

“Ay,” they said in unison.

Scanning over their attire, she crafted an amused smile. “Don’t you look rather… sharp?”

“You should see de rest of our clothes,” Connor joked.

“Dis is de only pair o’jeans I’ve got wit’out holes in dem.” About this, Murphy was serious.

“It’s all right. I didn’t expect you to wear suits.” Chuckling, she guided them to the vehicle, where her sister was waiting. In the instant they climbed aboard and buckled up, Deirdre’s eyes landed on Connor, and her shoulders hunched up toward her cheeks as a shy smile greeted him.

“Hello, Connor,” she uttered.

“Uh… hello,” he responded, tugging on the collar of his shirt, ignoring the smoke seeping out of Murphy’s nostrils.

The journey down the dirt road toward the street was a short one, but Fianna couldn’t help but make casual conversation. “Murphy…” she began. He clasped his knees. “Is your girlfriend going to mind this very much?”

“I…” He froze. If he told her he didn’t have a girlfriend, there’d be so many things left to interpret, and she’d eventually get one of them correct. “No. I don’t t’ink.”

“She isn’t the jealous type?”

His addition wasn’t required, but Connor intercepted. “She is.” Murphy’s head sank.

Her surprise wasn’t detectable only in her lifting eyebrows. “You know her then, Connor?”

“Aye. She’s a bit on de weird side. Likes action movies and guns.”

“ _Bad action movies,_ ” ribbed Murphy, which he paid for with a jab to the arm.

“ _Guns?_ ” she gasped. “Sounds a little… violent, don’t you think?”

Connor concluded, “Only on de outside.”

For her next question, Fianna’s tone changed completely. “Is it serious?”

“Eh…”

“Uh…”

“Well…”

“Erm…”

“No. It ain’t.”

Murphy, awed at this answer, turned to Connor with soul-crushed eyes. All Connor could think to do was shrug. Now wasn’t the best time to explain that it was a difficult situation they were in at the moment, and being trapped in the car with two people they were lying to wasn’t helping matters any. The expression of pure injury on Murphy’s face, however, bruised his heart. He wasn’t on the fence about his relationship with him—wouldn’t even consider for a moment that they weren’t perfect for each other—but he had to tell them something convincing and believable.

Perceptive Fianna didn’t buy the reply off the bat. “Is that so?”

“Apparently,” Murphy grumbled, hurt.

Connor tried his best to mime apologies, but Murphy wouldn’t look at him now. Oh Lord, did he ever wish the conversation would go elsewhere. “So how did de wool work out for ya?”

Fianna didn’t wish to change the subject, focused now on Murphy’s pain, but Connor clearly wanted out of it. “It was wonderful, thank you. Very high quality. I think you were right when you said we should pay you more.”

“Eh, no hard feelin’s. Just pay us in drinks and we’ll call it even.”

She and her sister both broke into an identical cackle. “We’re buying _you_ drinks. Is that how it works?”

“I… I dunno. Is it?”

A high-pitched giggle sounded, then Deirdre said, “You don’t take many girls out, do you?”

A bead of sweat snaked down Connor’s neck. “Uh… admittedly, no. I’m afraid we don’t get out much.”

“That’s all right. I don’t mind buying you drinks.”

Connor’s mood sailed. “Really?”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Oh. Well dat’s… awful kind o’ya.” When she fluttered her eyes, his instincts told him to pass a glance to his brother, who was soaking in his usual childish fury—eyes forward, brow down, lips tight.

“How about you, Murphy?” Fianna queried. “I take it you don’t have any cash, either.”

Murphy looked away from her probing stare. “Not… really.” _None in euros, anyway._

“Well! Looks like you fellows are the ones being treated this evening.”

“Sorry,” Connor said, smiling inside. “Not quite the gentlemen, are we?”

“You’re different,” studied Fianna, her head tilted up. “And I like that.”

 _Let’s hope she doesn’t discover just how much,_ he prayed.

The pub that Fianna and Deirdre brought them to wasn’t too shabby to scare off regulars, and yet, just shabby enough to where any local drunk was welcomed with open arms and lack of cutoff limit. In short, it was no McGinty’s by any means, but would serve its purpose. The music was not any kind that neither Connor nor Murphy would select by choice, but they had a feeling that asking them to change it to “heavy metal” would clear out many of the patrons.

Each step they took on the wooden floorboards, they heard a steady groan, unnerving them as they believed it might cave in at any moment now. Every set of eyes in the building turned toward the two young women, and it became clear to the twins that they were the only ones in the pub that were female. Already, Connor expected this evening to go far from well.

When the ladies took a seat at a table (far enough from the bar where they wouldn’t be ogled at all times), the twins sat across from them, fiddling with the objects upon the tabletop. Even if they had wanted to make casual conversation, they weren’t sure how to go about it.

“We heard you lived in America for some time,” squeaked Deirdre, only a slight pitch above the music.

“Aye,” Connor verified, twirling the salt shaker around. “Boston, in Massachusetts.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Ah… homesickness, I guess you could say.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the States. I’ve heard everyone there is sort of overbearing, though.”

He laughed, but Murphy couldn’t bring himself to join him. “Sometimes. But really, most folk are civil.”

As they chatted, Fianna observed them, but also watched Murphy, who wouldn’t take his eyes off of the table, nor stop his fidgeting. “Are you okay?” she asked, toning out Connor and Deirdre.

“Aye,” he fibbed.

“You look a little tense.”

“A bit.”

“I don’t bite, you know.”

 _Biting_ was the least of Murphy’s concerns. “Dat’s a relief, I guess.” The following smile on her face was no comfort to him.

“You know… you can be honest. You don’t wish to be here.”

As he swirled his eyes toward Connor, she did the same. Deirdre was giggling, _snorting_ even at something his brother said to her. What made it worse was that he also heard Connor crack up in the same manner. His hand clenched around his bundled silverware. “Yeh, well… I learned early on dat it’s better to keep yer mouth shut on some t’ings.”

Repositioning herself into a more relaxed pose, Fianna leaned back in her seat, folding her hands into her lap. “Whatever you tell me, I won’t judge you.”

His features twisted into doubting amusement. “I t’ink ya might.”

“All right. We’ll change the subject.”

Much to Murphy’s relief, a waitress came to their table and took their drink orders. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that a woman like Fianna ordered dry wine. Though he was glad he’d soon be throwing a few back, the sound of his brother having a good time, whether it was for show or not, curled his stomach into knots.

“I love your eyes,” complimented Deirdre, who made Connor turn rosy.

“T’anks,” he replied, bashful. “My mo’ter gave ‘em to meh.”

“I don’t like my own. I wish they were blue.”

“No… yers… dey’re nice.”

“Really?” She bit her bottom lip.

“Uh… uh-huh.”

“If ya find de color of shit attractive,” snarled Murphy, then clenched his jaw when he realized he stepped over the line, as always. All he got in return was a cautionary glare from his twin and a light nudge of the elbow.

When their drinks arrived, Murphy couldn’t drink his fast enough. Fianna couldn’t help but notice his displeasure, as well as his sour attitude toward her sister. “Does Deirdre bother you?”

“No.” His lie was poorly disguised.

“Would you prefer we sat at the bar instead?”

Initially, Murphy thought to object, but when Connor and Deirdre knocked their glasses together in a salute and grinned like idiots, he nodded. “Dat might be better.”

As soon as they stood, Connor turned toward Murphy. “Where ya goin’?”

“Sittin’ at de bar with her,” he said with his nose toward the ceiling.

“What? Why?”

He hunched over, pushing his mouth to Connor’s ear. “ _I_ _can’t watch dis_.”

“Murph…” beckoned Connor, but he stepped away with his date in tow. “Murph, come on.” He sighed and slid his palm through his trimmed hair.

“S-something wrong?” Deirdre wondered, not enjoying the sudden pressure that now radiated off of her new acquaintance.

“No, no. You were sayin’? About de customers?”

“Oh, yes, yes.” She continued weaving her tale, only Connor was less enthused to laugh this time around.

Now at the bar beside Fianna, Murphy leaned over his cup of whiskey and cola with darkened eyes, his thumbs coursed up and down the sides as he rocked his jaw back and forth, his teeth grinding.

With her lipstick-coated mouth wrapped around her teeth in an easing grin, Fianna patted Murphy on the wrist, and he withdrew his hands from the physical contact. “I’m sorry,” she calmed.

“S’not yer fault. Fuckin’ Connor.”

Puzzled, but also curious, Fianna sipped her wine as she looked him in the face. “What’d he do?”

“No’tin’. Ferget I said any’tin’.” He scratched at his neck and ear, hoping she would take his advice and let the conversation drift away.

An idea dawned on her. “Would you mind if I read your palm again, Murphy?”

“W-why?”

“I promise, it’s not to be invasive. It’s just to have a little fun.”

Murphy was hardly in the sort of mood to have any “fun,” but if it would get his mind off of the irritating situation, he’d allow it. He opened his palm and pushed it in her direction without another word. From her pocket she removed a pair of reading glasses, which were shaped like cat eyes, and looked humorous on her pointed facial frame. Once they were secured on the bridge of her nose, she picked up his palm and studied it.

A few things came to mind when traces the lines trailing along his hand, but one image she did not expect to sense was that of leather; the cuffs of a coat perhaps, or a glove of some kind. What she saw next was a bit of a shock to her: a tint of bright crimson.

She released his hand at once, startling him. There was no way to go about addressing what she saw, not in a diplomatic manner. She couldn’t simply come out and ask him why he felt so guilty, why he carried such a tremendous weight upon him. Whatever he had done in the past, he must have had a very good reason for locking it up.

“You’re… very family-oriented,” she noted, though it wasn’t something a palm-reading required for her to get an understanding of.

Murphy took a look into his palm, then clasped it and tucked it into his pocket. “Aye,” he grumbled, pleading that she didn’t come to the right conclusions. It was bad enough their father knew about it.

“Planning on having children?” He burst out into an over-exaggerated laugh. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I don’t like talkin’ about myself, all ‘ight? Tell meh who you are.”

Truth be told, she didn’t like talking about herself either. Observing her fellow man was a hobby of hers—getting to know people through their actions, their words, and of course, through their palms. “There isn’t much to say, I’m afraid. I weave wool, and I do it exceptionally.”

“Dat’s all?”

“Well… no. I’m also a bookkeeper.” She took another sip of her wine, avoiding Murphy’s calculating stare. Like Murphy, she had many things that were better left unsaid.

“Ay, beautiful,” slurred a man who had sidled up to the bar, staggering with every step he took. When Fianna realized it was her he was speaking to, she curled her lip.

“Not interested,” she rejected with sigh.

Apparently, he hadn’t heard her. “Can I buy ya a drink?” Even leaning over the bar was difficult for him, as his shoulders wished to push him in the opposite direction. As he spoke to her, he held one eye shut.

“I told you I wasn’t interested.”

“Come on,” he hassled, knocking a bowl of cashews over as he stumbled. “Don’t be like dat. Let meh buy ya one.”

Murphy sat upright, growling at the frustrating interruption. “De lady gave ya her answer.”

It took the drunk several seconds before he noticed Murphy was speaking to him. “Oh, piss off, would ya? I just wanna buy her a drink, fer fuck’s sake.”

Rising out of his seat, Murphy grabbed the man by his shirt collar. Protecting Fianna was hardly his interest in the scenario, nor was the thought of impressing her. However, one thing he didn’t like was someone who couldn’t take “no” for an answer, in addition to the fellow’s show of arrogance. Some people just needed to be taught a lesson. The drunk, stunned by Murphy’s action, fumed and shoved him back, knocking him into the wooden bar and a few patrons.

Fianna rose from her seat next, steamed that her drink had been spilled on the bar. It was one thing to be a persistent fool, and another to be wasteful. “You twat!” Before she could even look, Connor had entered the scene. She jumped back to duck out of harm’s way as Connor lunged for the offender, cracking him in the eye, sending him toppling onto a couple of absentminded customers, who were now angry enough to protest.

There wasn’t enough time for neither Fianna nor Deirdre to take in what just happened, because the drunken man had dove headfirst into Connor, and an abrupt brawl began. The drunk socked Connor, Murphy decked the drunk, and soon their fists were a blur. Fianna had little idea as to how or why it started, but it was enough to conclude that this had not been Connor and Murphy’s first “romp”.

“Oh, God,” Deirdre moaned as she saw the busting of bottles. “What the hell do we do?!” Fianna shrugged.

“What do you want _me_ to do about it? Wave a magic wand?”

Another throw or two of their fists and the drunk was unconscious upon the floor. “Oh, Lord, dat felt good,” Murphy said first.

“Aye,” sighed Connor, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. The bartender, a chubby older man with dark hair, shook with fear out of the line of fire. Those that chose not to join the fray also continued to watch them with looks of horror glued to their faces.

“Why de hell don’t we do dis every weekend?” Murphy chuckled.

“Dunno. We ought to.” They shared a moment of silence as they swapped identical enamored smiles. If there was no risk of being seen, Connor would grab and kiss him.

“Are you both okay?” fretted Deirdre, rushing to them. Fianna remained on the sidelines for the time being.

“Oh, aye,” Connor confirmed. “Peachy.”

“M-Murphy, you’re bleeding!”

“Eh, it happens,” he shrugged off.

Connor spun toward him, inspecting his nostrils. “Christ.” He wadded up a napkin he snatched from a near table and dabbed his nose, making him flinch at the pain.

Fianna didn’t want to wait around for the police. “We should probably go.”

“What’s dat?” asked Connor, focused on Murphy’s injury.

“Leave. We should probably leave.”

“I haven’t finished my drink yet.” When Murphy’s nose was clean of blood, he glanced at the older of the two sisters, and saw that she might have more on her mind than just witnessing their dates getting arrested. “Um… but I suppose yer right.”

They did make their exit, relieving the wary bartender, and joined the two women in their vehicle. Deirdre was too rattled to speak to them, but Fianna had quite a few things to say as she left the parking lot.

Peering at them in the rearview mirror, she hissed, “Do that a lot, guys?”

“No,” Connor told her, keeping his eyes on Murphy. “I told ya, we don’t get out much.”

Murphy, now hopeful, queried, “Why? Is fightin’ drunks a problem fer ya?”

“I thought it was amazing,” cooed Deirdre, who was scolded by her sister’s chilled eyes. “I mean… it was just a rush, that’s all.”

“It’s not a _problem,_ ” corrected Fianna. “But it looked like you had done it before… that’s all.”

“Erm…” Connor started, but then Murphy silenced him by resting a hand on his back.

“Oh aye. We’ve done it.”

“Murph, what de—”

“Liked it, too. But den we almost got shot, so…”

Deirdre was in awe of this tale, but Fianna wasn’t amused. “ _Shot?!_ ”

“By Russians.”

“ _Murph, shut yer damn trap!_ ” His jaw lowered as Murphy accosted him with a glower.

Fianna, as curious as she was at the nature of Connor and Murphy, didn’t want to risk her own life, or that of her sibling’s. “Maybe… it’d be best we didn’t have a second date.”

Though Murphy was smiling, Connor was now gripping at his face. He was just as interested as Murphy in going on a second date with them, but he didn’t want them leaving with the wrong, or rather, the correct ideas in their heads. What might they do now? Go home and search for them on the Internet, find their names in the papers, find out about what they came to Ireland to get away from? It was paranoid, and he knew it was, but the risk was too high. There was no way to explain themselves or come up with a viable excuse. If they told authorities, that’d be that. They could say goodbye to their freedom, and each other.

“Yer right,” agreed Connor after giving it some thought. “We acted a bit… Neanderthal-ish tonight, and… we’re sorry about dat. I can tell ya dat we might not be cut out fer datin’ fine ladies such as yerselves.”

Relaxing at his accommodating words, Fianna eased up. “I appreciate the gallantry. But I’m afraid it just isn’t for us.”

“But…” Deirdre spoke out, going quiet as soon as her sister silenced her with that look again.

After they were dropped off at home, the twins shuffled into the barn, keeping a distance from their father. For a while, the only sound was the bleating of the one sheep that was still awake.

When the silence got too much for him, Connor said to Murphy, “Just what de hell were ya t’inkin’?”

Scoffing, Murphy shoved past him to head over to the workbench, where he rolled cigarettes. “Meh? It’s _meh_ yer mad at? What about you, eh? I saw ya hangin’ all over dat girl.”

“ _What?_ Fer fuck’s sake, Murph, I wasn’t _hangin’_ on her!”

“Oh, yeh, sure. I know de way ya are when yer flirtin’. She compliments de way ya look and suddenly yer Prince Fuckin’ Charmin’!”

“Will ya come off it?! I don’t even like her!”

“And tellin’ ‘em my relationship’s not serious?! What’s up with dat?!”

“Would ya shut up fer a second?!” He obeyed him. “I _had_ to tell dem _some’tin’_. If dey knew you were serious, dey’d expect to hear more about her, or to see her around ya. It’d be suspicious, wouldn’t it, if dey never saw her after dat?!” They both huffed, panting with rage, calming down from the surge of adrenaline.

“Oh, sure. Dat’s what it is. It’s not at all dat ya found her cute.”

Rational answers were impossible at this rate if Murphy refused to listen to reason. “Don’t be pissed at meh. Ya almost blew our cover because you were a little jealous.”

“I wasn’t a little jealous!” he defended. “I was _really_ jealous!” Connor didn’t know what to say to that. Telling Murphy he was just as upset to see him wander off with Fianna would only make things worse. “And now I… I dunno what to t’ink, Connor. Maybe… dis… won’t work.”

“Murph…” His brother might have been right, but if it was one thing he didn’t want to conclude the night with, it was a breakup. His face and head were already throbbing from the fight they got into. “What are ya talkin’ about?”

“Maybe da’s right.”

Now that he had the chance to, Connor questioned him about what happened that morning. “What’d he tell ya? What’d he say?”

“ _He said we were too old fer dis shit!_ And… I dunno. I kind of agree.”

“Too old?! De fuck’s dat mean? I’ll tell ya what we’re too old for… gettin’ told what to do! Fer fuck’s sake, are we almost t’irty or t’irteen?!”

“Connor… you agree, too. I know ya do.”

At that, Connor sat down on a bale of hay, looking to the floor. “All I know is dat I love ya. And I don’t wanna lose ya.”

Murphy also turned his gaze to the ground. “Well… perhaps it’s time fer us to t’ink about de future.”

“I t’ought we were each o’ters future.”

“I said dat years ago. T’ings change.”

“Murph… why are ya _really_ doin’ dis?”

If there was an alternate reason for his actions, Murphy wouldn’t say. Connor could have guessed many things, but he would lay the blame on their father. Until they had met Noah a little more than a year ago, Murphy hadn’t been the least bit interested in finding their dad, but now that he had entered their lives, the last thing he wanted to happen was to watch him leave again. Losing both him and Connor would be an even worse fate.

“Please, Connor,” Murphy beseeched, his irises glazed. “Just… let it go.”

How could he ask such a thing of him? Just because their father felt differently? Simply because their evening with two women they had met just that day didn’t go perfectly?

Now at a loss of what to say or do, and utterly confused at the turn of events, Connor could no longer think of anything that would help. Murphy was impulsive. He was sure that he would say his apologies the following morning and get over the whole ordeal. For now, he allowed Murphy to leave.

“I love you,” he told him. Murphy wanted to answer him, but couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he left him alone.

Connor knew what had to be done. He would have to have a serious word or two with their old man.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning was the first chance Connor got to speak to either Murphy or his father, but it took a bit of hunting to track his parent down. Murphy, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found, and Connor assumed he herded the sheep that morning without him. He didn’t blame him for it, but he did wish he’d talk to him. He had so many things to say, and wasn’t able to speak his mind the previous night.

Noah, whose tasks were miniscule compared to those of the brothers, was re-shoeing the horses around the back of the barn, though he had to do so in the light shower of rain that surprised them. The trek to the barn was a messy one, as fresh mud caked the hems of Connor's jeans (which were hardly clean to begin with), only to be worsened by the drenching rainfall.

When he found his father, hunched over the horse hoof he held in both hands, he said nothing, but stiffened his posture and raised his confident head. When Noah’s hands stopped their strenuous work, Connor knew that he detected his arrival. His eyes never rose to meet his own, and that’s when he knew he’d have to be the one to do all of the speaking.

“Da,” he began in a tone as strong as the rolling thunder. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?” grunted Noah, carrying on with his duties.

“Aye. We do.”

Heaving a perturbed sigh, Noah settled the horse’s hoof to the ground, then lifted to his feet. He didn’t follow up on the conversation, but did guide the horse into the barn as the rain started pelting the dirt. Connor followed him, despite not being asked to, determined to get a few things through to him.

Noah parked the horse into a stall, then wiped his dirty hands off with a cloth as the rainstorm rumbled overhead. Next, he fumbled around in his pocket for a cigar, which he lit in silence. Connor, fed up with his dallying, got to the matter at hand.

“What’s yer problem?”

At that, Noah had to chuckle a bit. “What do ya mean, Connor?”

“Ya know what I’m talkin’ about. Murph and meh. What’s yer issue with it?”

For a conversation this serious, Noah had to take a seat, which he promptly did on a busted lawn chair. “You’re really askin’ meh that question? A better one, perhaps, would be… what _isn’t_ my problem with it?”

“De fuck does dat mean?”

“I know I wasn’t around to raise ya, so I know I have little say in what goes on… but Connor…” He paused, then sighed, clouds of smog exiting his nose. “Let meh begin by sayin’ dat it’s no secret that you and Murph aren’t exactly _normal._ I understand that, and accept it. But some things are… well, they just aren’t right.”

“Can you elaborate?”

Tugging at the strands of his salt and pepper beard, he thought of a diplomatic way to address the matter. “You and yer brother… yer supposed to be saints, aren’t ya? That’s what they call ya back in the States, after all.”

He expected his father to take this route in the discussion, and it was of no surprise to him. “Are we less saintly in yer eyes because of how we feel?”

Whatever answer he gave, it would not be a positive one, so he knew that honesty was the best way to go. “I’d say so, yes.”

“Why? Why do ya have to be like dat?”

“Connor… this is just as hard for meh as it is for you. Believe me.”

“Oh, aye. I’m sure ya feel just as much pain as Murph does right now.”

Noah wasn’t aware of how hurt either of them were; that is, until now. “You have to understand something. There are principles; foundations on which Catholicism was built upon. In the Lord’s view, the two of you would not be worthy of a place in Heaven after what you… _do_ with each other. And, thus, I have to also believe such a thing.”

It couldn’t be that his father was this blind. He looked up to his old man. After all he had been through in his lifetime, after all he had suffered, and after all of the wicked deeds he had committed, he still had the nerve to look down his nose upon him—his own son. It was more than just foolish. It was detestable. “De killin’s all ‘ight with ya though.”

Noah refused to be caught in his snare. “We kill in de Lord’s name. You’ve even told meh yourself that ya heard his callin’, as did Murphy.”

Connor snorted in derision. “Fer fuck’s sake, da. I’m old enough to know we didn’t really hear any’tin’. We were asleep; we _dreamed_ it. I’m still a devout Catholic, and I believe in what’s right, but I’m no lamb. I know it’s hard fer you to face, but we kill ‘cause we like to, and killin’ ‘bad’ people just gives us a ready excuse. You… well, ya have yer own reasons, don’t ya?”

Noah had to admit that he didn’t expect Connor to confess such a thing to him. He had killed for several years and never had the balls to do so. Now speechless, he puffed on his cigar, contemplating Connor’s current and past decisions, as well as his own.

“Da,” Connor continued. “God or not… _saints_ or not… I’m a fuckin’ human bein’. I’m not yer weapon, yer tool, yer killin’ machine. Ya bred meh, but ya didn’t _make_ meh who I am! I _love_ Murph. I’m not about to walk out on him like ya did on ma!”

Fury, as red hot as burning coal, sparked a fire in Noah’s eyes. He rose from his chair like a demon from the belly of the earth, kicking it back in the process. Connor, though he stood his ground, cowered in his shadow. “Ya listen here, ya ungrateful bastard child! I’ve done everything in my power to keep you two safe! If ya’d like, you can go on gallivanting hand-in-hand down to the police station if you’re so bloody _proud_ of your accomplishment in _fucking_ one another!” He swiped back some strands of soaked hair, sweaty from his outburst. “You’ll still burn for it. And I’m just trying to save you while I can.”

Now that he had his chance to speak, though it was difficult with such a dry mouth, Connor answered, “Well, I’d rather burn den be wit’out ‘im.”

“You’re a damn fool, son. Ya know that? You’re both adults. It’s time to act like it.”

“Ya know, I honestly don’t give a flyin’ fuck what ya t’ink about it. No offense, but Murph has been in my life a lot longer den you have, and frankly, I don’t care if lovin’ ‘im means losin’ ya forever. We did fine wit’out ya before, so we can make it again.”

“Fine,” snarled Noah, nearly chewing on his cigar, which was falling to pieces by now. “You’re welcome to take the stash and move back to America.”

 _America_ _._ Just the sound of that word made Connor’s skin crawl. _What would I rather have? Ireland, without Murphy beside me, or America, with both of us working minimum wage jobs, barely scraping along in that dung heap of an apartment? We had each other, sure. But we also had misery. Not to mention we’d have to be nearly invisible, or we’d get arrested._

“No,” Connor gave in. “I can’t do dat.”

“Then you’ll have to follow my rules, won’t you?”

“Assuming dey made any sense?”

“You’ll see things my way once you give it some thought, Connor. In time, it will make more sense than it does right now.”

A reverberating boom ripped through the sky, which had gone partially black by this point. There was no sense in arguing with his father any longer. No matter how he put it, they’d never see eye-to-eye. If he was to discuss his relationship with anyone, it was Murphy.

Unconcerned with getting soaked, Connor stepped out into the downpour, sloshing through piles of mud. He didn’t take more than a few steps before he heard the sound of galloping hooves and bleating ewes, and relief cascaded over him when he saw his twin riding up toward the barn, herding the panicked sheep into their sanctuary. As Murphy guided the animals into the barn, his eyes met Connor’s, which matched his brightened smile of hope. With great effort, Murphy averted his gaze and continued on his path, though it took all of his will to do so.

Connor figured that he and his brother wouldn’t be discussing much of anything, let alone the nature of their forbidden romance. Discouraged, Connor eyed the ground, but he didn’t leave the vicinity of the barn just yet. From outside, he heard the faint sound of conversation, of Murphy speaking to his father in a hushed tone. His father, however, sounded a little worked up.

After a few minutes, he heard the following in Noah’s voice: “I still have their number, if you’d like to call her.”

Connor wasn’t accustomed to dealing with so much jealousy. When growing up with Murphy, there was no need for getting competitive, since they were attached at the hip since birth. Many women of all types had been interested, but they never bothered, and Connor certainly never imagined Murphy choosing a woman over him. Now, he had to wonder just where he stood with him, and if any of his feelings were genuine. Perhaps their relationship had always been a farce. It could have been that Murphy was too scared to love anyone but Connor.

How could he possibly deal with such a thing? He couldn’t talk Murphy out of his choices. If he wanted to move on, he couldn’t stop him. All the same, not even a serrated blade could pierce him as hard or as deep as this overwhelming feeling of loss and aloneness.

“I don’t t’ink she’d like to talk to meh again,” sighed Murphy.

Noah, in his best empathetic performance: “Oh? Why is that?”

“She made it pretty clear Connor and meh were too different. Not dat she’s wrong.”

“I know the girl. She’s patient. She’d give you another chance if you were humble enough.”

“Da…” he then squeaked out, and it was evident he had a lot more to say, but something prevented him from speaking.

He exhaled, then responded. “Trust meh. Give her a call.”

“I… don’t really…”

“ _Call_.”

“ _Fine._ ” Grumbling to himself, Murphy stomped out of the barn, almost crashing into his brother, who hadn’t budged since seeing him come up the path. His expression was much more morose this time, desperate, even. Murphy’s anger dissipated, molding into sadness, seeing him standing there soaked from head to toe with his hair stuck to his face, his features pulled toward the soggy ground.

Murphy was no good at farewells, but was even worse at breaking someone’s heart. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, nor did he want to cause him or his father any pain. It was his understanding that some things just had to be done, and he had to take it like a man should. This, however, was more than just ripping off a bandage or shooting a few mobsters he didn’t know. Connor was everything to him—flesh and blood, and then some. His father, whom he grew up hating, ended up making up for his mistakes over time, and he had come to love and respect him more than he thought he would. His word meant just as much as Connor’s.

The rain was coming down so hard now that Murphy couldn’t decipher whether it was water or tears upon Connor’s face. If he had made Connor cry, it was just as unforgivable an act as letting a best friend meet his untimely demise. Nothing he said would make his brother feel any better, and, he feared, nothing could make him feel worse.

“M’sorry, Connor,” he told him just under a whisper, which was masked by the sound of millions of droplets hitting the grass. Connor didn’t need to confirm what he said to him, nor did he need to hear him say it. Murphy passed him, but as he brushed by, slid his hand against his twin’s. The brief collision of their fingertips rent Connor’s heart even further. That was the closest he would get to a goodbye.

It wasn’t easy for Connor to cry, unless it was with joy or mourning. Even getting a hot iron pressed onto his leg was ecstasy compared to this. It mattered little to him if his father could see or hear him as he released his agony. At no other point did he feel more worthless, and since Rocco’s death, he had never felt this helpless. Though he was an adult that could make his own choices, the list of options was a slim one and every outcome painful.

He took a step back as soon as he felt his shoes sinking into the mud, then headed inside the cottage to find a clean set of clothes to change into, passing Murphy, who now sat on the porch. If it was one thing that hurt worse than their splitting up, it was how they now treated each other like strangers.

The only thing that would mend the wound now, other than making amends with his family, was curling into bed to sleep, allowing the drumming raindrops to lull him. When wielding a gun, Connor felt so powerful, and yet, at the mercy of his brother’s actions, all his strength was drained away. To comprehend now that he was even capable of pointing a weapon at someone and pulling the trigger seemed laughable, a very far-fetched concept.

Sleep didn’t arrive as fast as he would have liked, but it did come nonetheless. His father could handle his jobs if he wanted, but he couldn’t bear to do them now. It all seemed so meaningless at this point; a dream turned into an awful nightmare. The sheep farm was his gift to Murphy, who had always wanted it. Without Murphy’s attention, there was little reason to go on tending to it.

Connor would remain asleep for hours beyond that which he intended to nap for, but it was a rest well-earned.

 

=====

 

Connor awoke that evening to the sound of a car’s breaks squealing into a parking position. There was no other vehicle he knew of that had such a problem, save for Sibeal’s. As much as he loved his uncle, his visit was ill-timed.

Moving was a challenging feat, even if just to turn onto his side. His every muscle ached as though he had each and every one of them punched. As he struggled to climb out of his bed, he heard the mindless small talk between his uncle and father in the living room. It took him a few minutes to realize that it had still been raining, and the yard was probably flooded. He didn’t look forward to walking in it.

Groggy and as worn as the many holey shirts in his armoire, Connor stepped out of the bedroom and out into the main living space of the cottage, where his nervous uncle managed a half smile at the sight of him. Connor had no idea that his hair had been messed in all directions.

“Uncle,” greeted Connor, lacking his usual cheeriness.

“H-hello, Connor.”

“Sit down,” Noah told his son, sliding a cup of tea toward him. Connor didn’t obey him right away. “Eat somethin’. I made shepherd’s pie.”

Connor looked around the room for Murphy. He couldn’t find him. Even the name of his favorite dish didn’t get his stomach growling. “Not hungry.”

Sibeal tried not to include himself in the conversation, busying his hands with stirring his tea and forking food into his mouth. Noah seemed annoyed with his silence, but Connor was grateful. He was more than certain that the reason he was even there sharing dinner was because his father called him and told him what was going on.

“You must eat,” Noah advised, readying a plate.

“Fer _fuck’s_ sake, I told ya I’m not hungry!”

His uncle hunched over his plate, not making eye contact with him. When Noah cleared his gruff throat, he knew it could no longer be avoided. “Are you well, Connor?”

 _Do I look it?_ “Aye,” he sighed.

“Your father tells me you’ve spent the day sleeping.”

“Da says a lot of t’ings dat don’t make sense.”

“I see.” He didn’t drop the subject, as the growing tension from Noah made it impossible to. “Why haven’t you come to church? I haven’t seen you and… Murphy in a while.”

“Been busy. Ya know. De sheep need a lot of care.”

“I’m sure they could take care of themselves for an hour or two while you both attended Mass.”

“All ‘ight.” He took a seat at the table, resting his elbows on top of the surface, weaving his fingers together beneath his chin. “What’s dis about, eh?”

A new glaze on Sibeal’s forehead reflected the light of the hearth. “I-I… nothing. I just hope you boys haven’t forgotten your faith, is all.”

“Believe me, uncle. My memory’s not as bad as ya t’ink it is.”

When Sibeal next looked at Noah, he pushed his eyebrows in the direction of his son. Already, Sibeal didn’t like this. He was just as unsettled by the news of Connor and Murphy’s “relations” that Noah spoke of, but he was just as uneasy at the danger of threatening him in any way. When they needed to be, the twins were a ruthless, bloodthirsty couple that he had no mind to antagonize.

“Your father…” He stopped when Connor’s brow crimped. “Mentioned… well, that you and Murphy… oh, goodness… I don’t know how to put this.”

“He told ya we fuck.”

Abashed laughter rang forth from Sibeal’s gaped maw. “Ah… well… he might have.”

“I’m guessin’ yer here to wave yer finger at meh, too.”

“Not… not exactly, Connor. I’m just here to help.”

The daggers he glared at his uncle now turned to his father, who refused to look at him. “Oh aye. Yer both a _huge_ help. If ya wanna help, den explain to my fa’ter dat I love my bro’ter, and I don’t just _fuck_ ‘im.”

Sibeal couldn’t cease his awkward chuckles. Connor was getting angrier by the second, and God’s wrath wouldn’t compare to that of a furious MacManus brother. “Well, dear boy, you must understand how it’s difficult for your da to interpret it as…” He stopped to chew on his lip as Connor got out of his seat. “W-well… I should probably be going.”

“Ya just got here,” complained Noah.

“Noah…” his brother whispered. “This isn’t my place. I have no right to tell Connor what to do.”

“Fine, fine. Off with ya, then. Forgive meh fer callin’ ya in a time of dire need. Won’t happen again.”

Sibeal showed himself out before either of them could wield a firearm and wave it in his face. His nerves couldn’t quite take it when he heard Connor follow him outside into the flooded yard.

“Sibeal,” he called when his uncle didn’t slow his steps. He stopped, swallowed a wad of concentrated saliva, then turned toward him. “If I come to church to see ya… and ya don’t t’row meh out… would it be okay if I talked to ya about it?”

“Of course.” He swallowed again.

“It’s just dat I’m afraid I’m gonna become… well, like ma. I don’t wanna get like dat. If da doesn’t like it, and I’m supposed to get used to it, den I wanna have someone to talk to.”

When understanding that he wouldn’t meet his demise any time soon, Sibeal approached Connor with a bit more confidence. “I’d be happy to help you, Connor. Why don’t I pick you up tomorrow morning and we can chat?” Connor nodded. His uncle’s comforting smile did pick his spirits off the ground for the moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Until then… try not to pay too much attention to your father. He’s been through a lot… like you have.” Connor nodded once more, though slower this time. “We’ll get through it together.”

After that, Sibeal was gone, though Connor helped him out of a puddle by pushing his vehicle. Before Connor could go back into the cottage, another car pulled up the drive, and from the looks of its silver color, it belonged to Fianna. All of his thoughts told him to go inside, and yet his heart told him to stand on the porch and watch.

Murphy, who sat in the passenger seat, hesitated before leaving the car. Connor was watching it like a hawk, and he knew that if he stepped out, it would upset him. Fianna had put the car in park, and had already told Murphy she’d see him again, but his lingering had raised her suspicions.

“Afraid of getting wet, Murphy?” she joked.

“No. I mean… yeah.”

Amused, she giggled, “It’s only a few feet to the porch. You must really hate water.”

“I do. It’s a pain in de ass. Makes fabric stick to ya and makes de animals reek.”

“Here.” She reached toward the backseat and felt around until she found what she was looking for: a black umbrella, which she then handed to Murphy. “This should keep you dry. Even for a few steps.”

As he took it from her, he felt guilty for it. “I’ll give it back.”

“No, you won’t. Keep it. You’ll think of me whenever it rains.”

His frown wasn’t telling enough of how this saccharine comment made him feel. “T’anks.”

Fianna smiled at him. “I had fun with you tonight. I’d like to do it again, if you do.”

He puckered his lips as a sour taste touched his tongue. “Dat’d… be nice.”

“Great. Maybe the next time I see you, you’ll tell me why you watch the ground so much.”

“I like grass,” mumbled Murphy, sarcastically. “I’ll call ya. Fer ano’ter… t’ing.”

“A date,” Fianna corrected.

“Aye…” Murphy popped the car door open, then opened the umbrella, using it to shield his steps to the porch, where Connor’s silhouette loomed. As Fianna left, she observed the manner in which Connor and Murphy now treated one another. Neither of them spoke when Murphy stepped into the house, but they did pass each other a glance, one that couldn’t be explained very well, even by Fianna. She would have to ask Murphy some questions the next time she saw him.

“An umbrella?” snorted Connor as he followed Murphy into the bedroom, shutting the door. Murphy, feeling trapped, knew he had nowhere else to hide. “She gave ya an umbrella?”

“Aye.” He closed the umbrella and set it in the corner, where it would drip dry.

“Ya took two steps to get into de house.”

As he spoke to him, he untied his boots. “I t’ought it was nice.”

“Sure. Nice. More like pointless.”

Murphy made no follow-up comment, only tucked his shoes in the corner with his new gift, then started pulling his shirt off to prepare for bed. At the sight of him partially bare, Connor’s teeth clenched.

“Don’t do dat,” he begged.

He was about to unzip his jeans, but he thought better of it now. Instead, he collapsed onto the bed on his back, hands tucked behind his head, listening to the thunder. Connor took a seat on his own bed, adjacent to his brother’s, saddened by his disinterest in conversation.

“So…” he began, and Murphy shut his eyes. “Ya have fun?”

“Sure.” Murphy was a much better murderer than a liar.

“What’d ya do?”

“Ya don’t really wanna talk about dis, do ya, Connor?”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

Murphy turned onto his side, away from his gloomy twin. “Den go to sleep, all ‘ight?”

“Can’t. I’ve been sleepin’ all day.” At these words, Murphy curled up into a tighter ball, but said nothing more. Connor knew that it marked the end of their talk. “Good night, Murph,” he said, less hostile now. Though he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he lied down anyway.

If he had time the next day, he’d have to find a way to sleep in the barn.


	5. Chapter 5

Inside the massive cathedral, Connor was dwarfed in comparison to the immense pillars and stretched stained glass that decorated the walls. It was already a daunting atmosphere for him, but when Sibeal waved him down the isle toward the podium, his nerves got the better of him. Whatever he confessed to his uncle, it wouldn’t be something he didn’t know already, but in a place as holy as this, he had to wonder if confessing his every sin was really the best course of action.

Sibeal turned to him and said, “The floor is yours, Connor.”

Connor took a seat in the front row, facing his eyes away from him. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning.”

The beginning. Where and how did it begin? It was only two years ago that he and Murphy initiated a physical relationship, and it began like any other: in a clumsy, awkward fashion. “I guess… de best way I can describe it is like dis: I t’ink de feelin’ was always dere. It wasn’t until we started living alone toge’ter dat we sort of picked up on it. We weren’t meant to be apart.”

“I take it your father has caused you to take a different approach.”

“No. I still believe we’re supposed to be toge’ter. My fa’ter has altered _Murph’s_ opinion on it.” He lit up a cigarette, in spite of Sibeal’s stammering in protest. Knowing that it might help relax him, and there was no one else inside the church, he let it slide. “Da’s really grown on Murph since we met ‘im. I don’t blame Murph fer lovin’ ‘im. I do, too, of course. But he takes ‘im too seriously. He’s afraid of losin’ ‘im again. He probably wouldn’t feel dat way if da let up on de threats.”

Sibeal chose his next words carefully. “Have you considered, then, that maybe it’s best for you and Murphy to be split up? It’s a lot of pressure.”

“I…” He hid his soggy eyes from view. “I have. I don’t want Murph to feel trapped. But I _know,_ Sibeal, dat he’s unhappy. And so am I.”

Though his own opinions might not match Connor’s, he would provide him the aid he sought. Noah wouldn’t like it, but his aim was to help his nephew, not make things worse. “Situations like these always take time. Your father needs time, and so does Murphy.”

“And den what?” He puffed his cigarette. “Just let ‘im go?”

“It… it’s not going to be easy.” When Connor cupped his palm over his eyes, Sibeal sighed. “I know this is hard for you, and… I know your father isn’t giving you much choice, and this choice isn’t necessarily the right one. All I know is… things have to hurt before they feel better, and they have to be difficult before they get easy again.” He felt hopeless when Connor started wiping his eyes and sniffling.

“I miss ‘im. Ya know?”

“He’s not going anywhere. You’re not losing him. He’s still your brother.”

“But it’s like he’s _not_ dere. I feel like he’s _gone._ ” Each time he tried to say a word clearly, it fell apart as his tight throat squeezed it. “Who he is now… he’s not Murph. He’s a stranger to meh.”

“You… you have to keep in mind that he’s trying to get over you, too.”

Connor, unable to smoke any more of his cigarette without upsetting his stomach, rose to his feet and paced. “I don’t see de point! I don’t see any _reason_ we have to go t’rough dis much sufferin’! If it’s de fact dat we’re family, den I can’t argue with someone’s opinion… but with Murph supportin’ meh, with him beside meh holdin’ a gun, ready to pull dat trigger at de same time as meh, I feel like I could destroy entire cities worth of scum. I feel strong when he’s dere. Toge’ter we’re one awesome force, one dat no one could ever put a stop to. We’re one person. Alone… I’m… I’m just Connor. And I don’t wanna be ‘just Connor’. To tell ya de truth, I don’t like meh very much. And now, nei’ter does Murph.”

The echoes of Connor’s yelling faded, and Sibeal at last had his chance to speak. “I’m sure your brother loves you. The situation is just a bit complicated.”

“Ya don’t say,” scoffed his nephew. “He went on a date last night with dat Fianna girl. What am I supposed to say about dat? How am I meant to react? I can’t tell ‘im what to do, but I know he doesn’t like her. I know he’s datin’ her to get over meh. What do I do?” He paced up and down the isle, trying to keep his eyes dry and his mood calm.

“As I said, Connor… it’s not going to be easy. You might want to find your own means of moving on.”

He laughed at such ridiculous advice. “What, like date her sister? Ferget it.” Before Sibeal could make another suggestion, a light dawned on him. “Aye… I’ll date her sister. If Murph saw meh with her, he wouldn’t be able to take it.”

“Connor…” Sibeal protested. “Your goal here is to accept that things are out of your control. You… you can’t just seize it for yourself and change it. Murphy made his decision because he had to. You’re only going to make things worse for the both of you.”

“I _highly_ disagree. Murph’ll come back to meh. He will.”

“Connor, I…”

“I know ya don’t understand. But I can’t live like dis.”

“No… I-I do understand.” Nothing more could be said on the matter, he feared. Connor had made up his mind, and he couldn’t change it. Once their talk was over, he took him back home.

Murphy, who had no idea where Connor went when he woke up that morning, didn’t bother looking for him, but he worried all the same. He had experienced Connor disappearing before in times where he wandered off to sulk whenever they had a meaningless argument that was always alleviated with fondness later on. Knowing there would be no such make-up this time around, he wondered if his brother would even bother to come back this time around.

He told himself not to worry about it. He knew Connor better than anyone, and figured he might have just needed to blow off some steam alone for a while. His absence allowed him to sort his own thoughts out and find his own peace of mind.

As he had begun to finish up feeding the horses, Sibeal’s vehicle squeaked up the drive, and his twin hopped out, waving to their uncle as he treaded back toward the house. Most suspiciously, he didn’t give him a passing glance for the first time in days. He wished, more than anything, that he could find the strength to talk to him, to face what he feared most. Few things burned worse than their splitting, the desire to fuse with him both emotionally and physically a power he was weak to.

Involuntarily, he called, “Hey, Connor.” When the words drifted out of his mouth, he clenched his teeth, holding more of them back. Sometimes, they just had a mind of their own. To his dismay, his brother didn’t hear him—or was pretending not to.

Murphy had never seen that before. Connor could detect his call from distances he thought impossible in the past. He always came, even if he thought a childish prank was about to be pulled on him. He was always a good sport about that. After dumping the last of the feed into the tray, he left the barn and smoked for a while, keeping his eyes on the cottage.

Connor searched the living room for their elusive telephone, one that they had apparently owned and he had never seen before. There it was, mounted upon the wall, attached to a long, twisted cord, resting upon its cradle. He took a few moments to stare it down in the same manner as one would an opposing duelist, but someone else entered the room before he could take action.

“Need somethin’, Connor?” asked Noah, who was surprised to see him there.

“Aye. De number fer de O’Donnels.”

Speech had failed Noah when these words struck his ringing ears. “Ya want to call them? I already told ya, we’re settlin’ for their price.”

“I’m not callin’ about dat. I want to ask Deirdre out.”

If Noah’s eyes could get any bigger, they’d be the size of baseballs. “Ask her out?”

“Aye. Dat a problem with ya?”

“Uh… no. No, of course not, son.” He gave the number to Connor right away, who punched it into the buttons on the phone. Connor would have preferred a more private conversation, but Noah insisted on hanging around and eavesdropping. With his back turned to his father he rolled his eyes.

The one who answered the phone was Fianna, and she sounded exhausted. “O’Donnel Wool-Weavers.”

Just the sound of her voice after seeing her with Murphy the other night made his blood heat up. “Could I speak to Deirdre?”

A long pause, then: “Connor?”

“Aye.”

“Um… sure. One second.” A muffled shout then followed, and the sound of footsteps drew near.

A new voice spoke down the line. “Yes?”

“Deirdre? Connor. Listen, I was wonderin’ if you were… busy… tonight?”

She squeaked out a girlish giggle. “No. I’m not busy.”

“Would ya maybe like to… do… some’tin’?”

“I’d love to. What would you like to do?”

Connor hadn’t thought of that. All he knew was that he should see her. “Coffee. We could go out fer coffee.”

“Great,” she sighed with relief. “I could use some.”

“Good. Would six be a good time fer ya?”

“Well, Fianna’s heading over there at eight to see your brother. Maybe we could double date again.”

“I-I’d rather not.”

“Oh. Okay.” Though she sounded confused, she didn’t seem too bothered. “Well, I’ll see you at sex, then. _SIX!_ Six.”

His mood might have been dark, but he allowed himself to laugh. “See ya den.” When their call ended, he brushed past his father on the way back out to the barn before he could speak to him, though he could tell he had so many things left to say to him. Whatever it was, he had no interest in hearing it unless it came with an apology and compromise.

His trip to the barn was halted by the sight of his brother standing just outside of it, smoking and watching the ground. The closer he got to him and the barn, the more he bobbed and weaved. When Murphy said nothing to him, he slipped past him into the barn where he got the horse ready to herd the sheep out to graze. As he saddled his horse, Murphy followed him inside.

“Where’d ya go dis mornin’?” he wondered. “Somewhere with uncle Sibeal?”

Shocked that he was even speaking to him, Connor turned his head and peered at him as he paced the wooden floor. “Aye. Went to church.”

“What for?”

“To talk.”

“About what?”

“Murph…” He forced out a ragged sigh. “Ya don’t have to force yerself to talk to meh.”

His head sank, and he kicked at some stray dirt. “I… I’m not.”

“And if ya must know, yes, we spoke about you.” He tightened the leather saddle, checked to see if it was secure, then mounted the gelding. “And no… it wasn’t easy. In fact, it completely sucked. But dere ya have it.” He pressed his heels against the horse’s sides and rode forward after releasing the sheep.

All Murphy could think to do was stand there and dwell on things. He thought about following Connor out to the fields and helping him out, but it was too painful to be around him.

For the remainder of the day, Connor spent most of his time trying to relax, doing his best to take his mind off of the past few days. The sheep provided him a good distraction for the time being, though they were truly Murphy’s sheep. Still, he looked after them all as a shepherd ought to.

When six o’clock struck, Connor’s nerves got the better of him. He knew he could handle something as simple as taking someone out for coffee, but even doing something as simple as that would be difficult when all he could think about was how much he missed his brother.

Murphy noticed the car first when it arrived, as he sat on the porch bench smoking his tenth cigarette. If he had more tobacco, he’d have smoked a lot more. Expecting Fianna, he prepared for another of their awkward conversations, but when it was Deirdre he saw exit the vehicle, he became tenser.

“Hey, Murphy,” she chimed as she strolled toward the cottage in a white blouse and long, blue skirt. It took him a few moments to figure out what sort of greeting he wanted to use, assuming it might be best to stay cordial.

“Ay,” he answered, taking a puff. “What’re ya doin’ here?”

Puzzled, she glanced off to the side to avoid Murphy’s penetrating stare. “Connor didn’t tell you we were going out for coffee?”

His mouth creased. “He failed to mention dat.”

“Oh. Well, we won’t be long. I wouldn’t want to keep him too busy.”

 _I’d hope you wouldn’t,_ pouted his bitter mind. He was about to tell her that Connor would arrive shortly, but he didn’t need to. Connor rode in, flanking the flock of sheep and guiding them into the barn. As he did so, he waved to Deirdre and noticed Murphy’s accusatory glance as they locked eyes. He didn’t bother responding.

As soon as his work was complete, Connor treaded through the front yard toward Deirdre, who smiled at his approach. “Oh… ya look good,” he complimented.

Deirdre’s shoulders curled toward her cheekbones. “Thank you.” She ignored Murphy’s gentle scoff. “I know the perfect place we can go. Everything is fresh brewed there.”

“Sounds great. Let’s go.”

She didn’t wait a moment longer before trotting to the car. Connor only got one foot toward her before he heard his twin’s soft voice. “Connor.”

Slowing his steps, but not quite stopping, he looked over his shoulder. That’s when he saw the melancholy expression on Murphy’s face: his eyes wide, his lips tucked down, his nose twisted in that incredulous fashion. “Don’t look at me like dat,” he dismissed, which only made him pout harder. “You started it.”

“Connor,” Murphy whimpered, but got no answer. Connor climbed into the car and slammed the door, combing his hair back with his hands.

“Is… your brother okay?” queried Deirdre when the look on Murphy’s face became apparent to her.

“He’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

Deirdre wasn’t the type to cause problems, nor was she the kind to let things go. If something was bothering Connor and his brother, perhaps it wasn’t the best time to date him. On the other hand, she hadn’t been with a guy for half a year, and she was attracted to Connor. With all of the weaving she did at home, it would have been nice to have someone to do it for.

“All right,” she agreed. “Let’s go.”

Once the O’Donnel’s car was out of sight, Murphy leaped from the bench and kicked at the ground. “I don’t care! Nope! Don’t even _fuckin’_ care, Connor!” Just to get his point across (though to whom is not exactly clear), he threw a stone. “Why don’t ya sleep with her too?! Aye, ya like dose fuckin’ B cups, don’t ya?! _Bastard!_ ”

Following his tantrum, a headache ensued, likely caused by the bulging of a vein. He rubbed his forehead, attempting to calm himself. It didn’t quite do the trick as he had hoped. Rather than calm him down, it only worked him up further.

The door to the cottage creaked open, and Noah stepped outside only to find Murphy crying to himself. “Murphy? Murphy, are you all right?”

After drying his eyes on his shirt, he faced him. “Leave meh alone, da.”

This advice, though best followed, was not something Noah heeded. Murphy’s tension rose to mountainous heights. “Murphy… you need to understand…”

“I said _leave meh alone!_ What de fuck don’t ya get about dat?!” In case his message wasn’t clear, his exaggerated hand gestures made it obvious that he was enraged.

“This can’t keep goin’ on forever. You know that.”

Murphy stormed into the house, away from him. Noah trailed in after him, wishing to continue the discussion. “This is somethin’ that needs to be talked about. I know ya don’t want to, but it must.”

Now was the wrong time to be pressing him. If pressed hard enough, he might break in the same way a dry twig might. Connor was much better at controlling his anger, but it was a trait he never developed, himself. Practically kicking their bedroom door down, he slipped inside, slamming the door in Noah’s face.

That was enough.

=====

 

Connor arrived back in time for Murphy to leave on his own date, or whatever it was he might have called it. Connor didn’t come anywhere near the house when returning, only hid away in the barn where he toiled at some meaningless task. His time with Deirdre was engaging, but what he loved best about joining her at the shop was the coffee. It had a rich flavor, a roast unlike any other he had tasted. He’d have to invite Murphy…

Right. Murphy. Soon he’d be off on his own strange adventure, and he’d never get the fine details—not that he wanted them, of course. He hated seeing him look so upset earlier when he left, but he hated going through unnecessary pain even worse. The way to Murphy’s heart was through the lava always running through his veins, and he knew it. To get to the soft center, he had to dive through molten rock. He didn’t like going about it that way, but it had a tendency of working in his favor.

Fianna showed up at her intended time, and Murphy came out to greet her, though she first said hello to Connor. He waved as he walked by, stuffing a cigarette in his mouth and heading into the barn. Murphy couldn’t force his frown away even if he had pliers.

“Are you okay?” Fianna asked with a sigh, sounding fed up.

“Aye,” he confirmed.

“You know, I don’t really appreciate lies.”

“Fine. No.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Why don’t we go somewhere more private and discuss it?”

“Now?” He tried not to make it sound like a groan, but he couldn’t help it.

She peeked down at her watch. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Let’s go to yer place, den.”

“I’d rather stay here, if you wouldn’t mind. I saw you had a fire pit. I thought it might be nice to start one and sit in front of it for a while.”

He hid his upturned eyes from her. “All ‘ight.” He couldn’t explain that having her there would make things more complicated for him, but he wished he could.

While Murphy gathered some wood to start the fire, Connor watched them from afar, curious now of how the evening would progress, and furthermore, just how far Murphy was willing to take this bizarre battle of theirs, and just how long they were going to go at it like this until Murphy did and chose what he really wanted.

Alas, Connor’s strength wasn’t what it used to be.


	6. Chapter 6

Embers popped and crackled within the small bonfire Murphy had made, which he and Fianna now sat in front of while she picked his mind with several probing questions. Seeing he wasn’t in much of a mood to answer any of them, she figured it was best to let a sleeping dog lie. Rather than ask about his sour mood, she turned her attention to Murphy’s many tattoos. The one that caught her eye the most was the cross on his forearm.

“That’s a beautiful tattoo,” she complimented. Murphy cupped his palm over it, as though shielding it from her. As his hand gripped his arm, he was reminded of one of many painful memories. “Is there something wrong? With me liking it, I mean?”

“No,” Murphy sighed. “T’anks fer sayin’ so.”

“And that one on your hand…”

He didn’t need to look at the word “Aequitas” emblazoned in black on the curve of his thumb and forefinger, but he did so regardless. On this tattoo in particular, he made no remark, but curled his hand up so that the word was out of view.

“What’s it mean?” asked Fianna when it became clear that Murphy wouldn’t reveal the facts on his own.

“It’s… personal.”

“I’d imagine most tattoos are.”

_She’s not going to drop it, is she?_ lamented Murphy, who was now looking at Connor. He was hovering around the barn, smoking, helping himself to beer, patrolling the yard like a watchdog. “It means ‘justice’.”

The flames danced and flickered, shadows rising and dipping on Fianna’s curious face. “Interesting word to have permanently written on your own body.”

“I had my reasons.”

Marveling at the mystery sitting before her, she said, “You have many secrets, Murphy.”

“I like it dat way.” He squinted to show his seriousness in the matter.

“Where is your girlfriend?”

Dabs of sweat streaked down the back of his neck. “Mindin’ her own business, looks like.”

“Meaning…”

“We split up.”

Surprised, Fianna scooted an inch closer to Murphy, who tried to lean away. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Well… t’was… but…”

While crossing her legs, she pushed her shoulder closer to her companion, who tried to distract himself by pulling at strands of grass. “I’m going to sound a bit like I’m being invasive… but would you mind if I asked what her name was?”

Grimacing, Murphy’s eyes raised to the barn where Connor was walking in and out of. “I… do mind a little.”

This wasn’t an answer she expected, nor was it one she liked. “Why’s that?”

“Because, it’s… really none of yer business, is it?”

Suspicious, and now a little annoyed, her crimson lips slanted. “Most people don’t have issues with telling names.”

“Well, I do.”

“Is that because you never actually had a girlfriend?”

Whatever he thought of to say next, he knew it had better be convincing—not that it would be all that bothersome that Fianna knew the truth. “You saw in my palm dat I had one. Ya said you could see any’tin’. Are ya sayin’ you were wrong?”

If it was one thing Fianna didn’t find entertaining, aside from offered too little money for her hand-crafted sweaters, was being tested. Her relaxed pose stiffened as her shoulders tensed, and she leaned a bit further away from her friend. “I am _never_ wrong.”

“Well, maybe dis time, ya were.”

“No. You don’t seem to understand. I wasn’t wrong. You’re hiding something.”

“What difference does it make? Ya saw I had a girlfriend and now she’s gone, ei’ter way.”

“I didn’t see that you had a girlfriend. I saw that you were in a _relationship._ ”

On that note, she caught his tongue, which he feared he might have swallowed in his anxiousness. “What’re ya implyin’?”

With the corner of her mouth tipped upward, her eyes softened. “I don’t know, Murphy. What am I implying?”

“Ya can’t be serious.”

“On the contrary… I’m always serious.” Alerted to his look of shame, regret, and misfortune, she chuckled. “It’d be much easier if you admitted it.”

“Dunno what yer talkin’ about.”

“All right. Continue this charade. I like the company.” She dropped it, to his relief, and so did he, though he couldn’t take his eyes off of Connor, who was watching them from afar. “There was something else I saw in your palm I wanted to ask you about.”

Sighing, Murphy leaned back into the grass and dirt on his elbows. “What’s dat?”

“You seem burdened with a great deal of guilt. Is there something you’ve done that you’re not proud of?” She eased back when he cast a glower toward the waving fire.

“We all have, haven’t we?” he answered, his voice dark and unforgiving.

“We don’t all carry it wherever we go. We don’t all shield ourselves from others. We don’t all avoid friendships.” He didn’t object to her moving closer, but he didn’t look too thrilled about it, either. “Are you afraid? Perhaps… of losing something? Some _one?_ ”

Murphy, fighting off the urge to shove her back, got to his feet. “Stop askin’ meh questions!”

Amazed at his aggression, Fianna backed down. “Fine. Whatever you say.” Giving him a moment to calm himself down, she also stood. “Why don’t we go inside?”

He scoffed. “Are ya comin’ on to meh?”

“I might be.”

When faced with the decision, Murphy didn’t know how to go about it. If he refused, it might look strange. If he accepted, Connor might see them, and a war would ensue, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to take part in anymore.

_He’s dating Deirdre now. Would he even care?_ For that, he had no answer. He wanted to believe he would, but knew that at this point, he had gotten over him and moved on. Whether he had or not, Murphy was still not over Connor.

“All ‘ight,” he agreed, then walked her into the cottage, all while Connor had his back turned.

 

=====

 

The next time Connor left the barn, he saw that he was now alone outside, and the fire was dying. Fianna’s car was still in the driveway, so he knew they were either taking a walk, or they were in the house. Then, he feared the worst when he saw the dim streams of light pouring through their bedroom window. Either Noah was nosing around their belongings, or Murphy had taken his maiden to his bed.

Tossing his unfinished cigarette to the ground and mashing it with the toe of his boot, he snuck up to the side of the house, pressing his back against the stone walls. Inches away from the window, he dreaded the silence. They weren’t talking to each other, which meant they could only be doing something that didn’t require words.

Making sure he was far enough in the shadows to remain obscured, he tilted his head to see inside of the room. Murphy was flat on his back upon his bed, and Fianna was lying upon him, her legs on either side of his waist, their mouths entangled and writhing. Murphy’s T-shirt was off, strewn onto the floor, and Fianna was working on struggling out of her own restricting blouse, which she needed Murphy’s help with. Once it was off, she grabbed Murphy’s hands and mounted them upon her firm breasts, which Murphy seemed confused at what to do with, or whether he liked it or not.

Connor could no longer stomach watching them. He turned away from the window and slapped a hand over his mouth, holding back the puke that wanted to lurch from it. The question on his mind now was: what could he do about it? He could run in waving his gun like a lunatic, demanding she get off of him. He could call up Deirdre and make out with her in plain view of the two of them.

Or, he could deal with it like a man, and accept that it was just the way things had to be.

To accept that, however, would mean that he would be forced to also consider that the two of them couldn’t stay in the same vicinity. The tension was already thick enough, and now, Connor wouldn’t be able to face Murphy at all without breaking down.

He didn’t want to do it, but he now believed that one his best and only options was to leave the farm and go elsewhere. Where, though, could he go? He had never known anything but his life with Murphy, and couldn’t imagine being anywhere without him.

_I have to get used to the idea,_ he told himself. _Nothing I do is going to change his mind. He’s made his choice. Now I have to make my own._

When Connor opened his eyes, he didn’t realize he had closed them for the past few minutes. He felt the grass underneath him, and assumed he must have sat down in it. His face was damp. Had he been crying? Everything happened so fast that it only now had struck him. He pushed his body off of the ground and hauled himself to his unstable legs, then trudged back to the barn, where he went searching for a shovel.

 

=====

 

Fianna’s kissing came to a screeching halt when she noticed that Murphy’s attention was more on the wall then on her mouth moving down his happy trail. When her mouth lifted off of his skin, he didn’t make any comment, nor did he ask her to continue. To say she was disappointed in the direction this was going in would be an understatement.

“What?” she sighed. That’s when she noticed that Murphy was staring outside the window, not at the wall.

“T’ought I heard some’tin’,” he told her, rather casually.

“Do you… want me to continue?”

“I… I…” He covered his eyes. “I t’ink it’d be better if we stopped.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Look, I’m just not feelin’ up to dis. Yer cool and all, I just…”

“I get it.” Aggravated, she collected her clothes and slipped them on. “You know, Murphy… if you didn’t want this, you could have said so from the beginning. I’m a big girl, I could have handled it.”

“Dat’s de t’ing. I wasn’t sure. I’m in sort of a complicated situation.”

She chuckled, fascinated by how it all played out. “Too bad. I liked you. Just as well, though. Your brother doesn’t seem to like _me_ very much.”

“Well, to be fair… I don’t like yer sister.”

“Interesting,” she chimed. “Well, Murphy… it’s been fun, and… well, a little weird, I will admit. I hope you don’t mind us staying friends.”

“Friends would be… okay.” He smiled, despite the bizarre communication between them.

Fianna didn’t torture him any further by giving him any more kisses, but she did pat his shoulder to let him know all was forgiven. If he had been born alone, he wondered if they might have worked out. As a person, he didn’t think she was so bad, and if he hadn’t had Connor to give all of his love to, he might have considered it.

“See you soon,” she vowed. Murphy nodded to her as she walked out, and he couldn’t resist turning back toward the window to see if Connor was out there. He wanted to share the good news with him. He wanted to apologize, set everything right, to feel his arms around him again. Touching Fianna reminded him just how badly he missed it.

He watched Fianna enter her car and drive off, but he didn’t see his brother anywhere. He might have still been in the barn, cleaning it as he sometimes did at night. He rushed out of his bed, and dove out of the bedroom, seeing Noah at the table. When their eyes met, his father’s were overshadowed, his jaw working in circles as he chewed on something crunchy.

“So,” he said to his son. “How’d your evening go?” His smile was a teasing one.

“Fine. Where’s Connor?”

His frown couldn’t be sourer. “Outdoors, I think.”

Murphy said nothing else before breezing out of the house, sprinting across the yard toward the barn, slipping in mud puddles on his way. “Connor!” he called while sliding the door open. “Connor, I wanna talk to ya!” There was nothing but silence to follow. He walked all the way through toward the back door, but didn’t see his brother anywhere. Something else was amiss as well: one of the horses was gone.

Murphy didn’t panic just yet. It was possible that he went for a lone ride to clear his head for a while. This was the assumption he had until he stepped back outside, making a startling discovery. A giant hole was unearthed, in the very spot where he and Connor buried their stash, which contained American dollars, their guns, and some ammunition. The crate containing these items was gone.

“Da!” Murphy yelled, jogging back to the cottage. When he jerked the door open, Noah stood, alarmed at Murphy’s fearful gaze. “Da, where de hell is Connor?”

For the past few days, Noah hadn’t kept tabs on him, not after that fight they got into. He figured it would be better off to leave him alone. “Why? What happened?”

“De stash. It’s gone.”

“What?!”

“And one of de horses. I t’ink… I t’ink he’s goin’ back to de States.”

“He’s not going to get far on a horse. I’ll go after him.”

“Da, wait.” Noah froze in the doorway. “You should probably let meh.”

Pulling on his beard, he debated it. “No. Stay here.” He pulled the door open and stepped out, and Murphy raced after him.

“ _Da!_ ” Once again, Noah stopped, turning his frustrated eyes to him. “I’m goin’ to get my bro’ter back. Yer de one dat needs to stay.”

Noah could see there would be no other recourse. Murphy always got his way, or else chaos and destruction would be left in his wake. “Fine.”

Seeing the matter was dealt with, Murphy strolled back to the barn. He already knew, prior to chasing after Connor, where he’d be headed. They had no passports, and had no way of flying to America. He’d have to go by ship, just as they had to reach Ireland to begin with. If he knew Connor, and he was really the only one that did, he’d go to Sibeal’s first to hitch a ride from him. Even if he hadn’t, he would need to do so. He wouldn’t reach Connor on horseback.

Wherever Connor was now, all he could think about was comforting him, telling him he made a huge mistake in following his father’s orders, explaining that he and Fianna weren’t seeing each other. He just wanted to grab him, to hold him, and never let go, ever again. He would even kiss him in front of their father.

For the next few miles, Murphy kept his hopes high that Connor was not already gone. If he had been, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to reach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit that I have **no** idea where I'm going with this.  
>  Obvious, isn't it? :P


	7. Chapter 7

Murphy couldn’t get his horse to go much faster than it was without exhausting the poor thing, but he had no idea as to how much time he had. If luck ran with him, Connor would still be at Sibeal’s and his uncle would be talking him out of what he was about to do. He kept his fingers crossed that Connor understood the impulsiveness of his decision and change his mind before he did something he’d regret.

_Don’t be foolish, Connor,_ he chanted, wishing that his twin could read his thoughts. _Whatever you think is happening, it’s not worth running away._

Sibeal’s house, a cottage similar to the one they owned, appeared over the green hills. When he saw his uncle’s missing vehicle, his heart sank to his stomach. Though he knew it was fruitless, he dismounted his horse, dashed for the front door and hammered on it. No one answered. What he did hear was the whinnies of the second gelding, coming from around the other side of the house. When spotting it, he recognized it as Connor’s.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he choked. “Connor, ya fuckin’ idiot!”

What now could he do, other than wait for Sibeal to come back? Connor could be anywhere by now, and there was little to nothing he could do about it. In the meantime, he sat down on the porch, peering over his arm, staring down at the tattoo that concealed the nasty scar he had there. It was bad enough that he felt awful about it, but whenever Connor glimpsed at it, or even touched it, he gave it a look of sorrow and guilt.

_“It’s my fault ya got dat,”_ he’d always say. He never understood why Connor would say such things. He never blamed him for what happened, and would never dream of accusing him. He supposed it was just Connor’s way when it came to him and his safety. Even when tackled by an old friend, Connor would jump in and yank him off.

His heart grew heavy at the thought of how close they were, and how ready he was to abandon it all in the blink of an eye, all because he and his father shared some not-so-friendly words about it. If anyone other than his father tried to come between him and Connor, he’d blow their brains out. In spite of loving his father, he didn’t like him very much right now.

Nearly two years ago, he had told his twin that he felt they were meant to be as close as they were—and it wasn’t just the murdering that brought them into a tighter union. They never did use the word “fate,” but it was evident that they both believed in it. If Noah couldn’t understand just how willing he was to step in front of a bullet for his brother, and how Connor has and would kill for him, then he had no other way of clarifying just how much they loved each other.

When thinking back on his actions over the past week, it all felt so alien to him. If someone had asked him ages ago if he would ever consider doing any of it, he’d laugh at them. And yet, here he was, about to lose Connor to whatever nonsense he caused simply because he couldn’t convince Noah to look the other way.

_What the fuck was I thinking?_ he asked himself. _Connor’s more than just family, and now I’ve lost him._

He seized his neck when an ache pounded away at it, and squinted as two bold, piercing lights sailed up the driveway. He rose immediately, waving to his uncle as he parked. Sibeal, who had just moments ago dealt with his emotional nephew, was not expecting to see his other one standing on his porch. When leaving his vehicle, he tossed an uneven wave to Murphy, who was looking frantically for Connor.

“Uncle Sibeal, has Connor been here?”

“Ah…” He scratched his earlobe. “Aye. I just dropped him off.”

“Where?”

“Well… a-at the pier.” Murphy’s eyes popped. “He said he wanted to go back to the US.”

“And ya let ‘im?! _Ya just let ‘im go?!_ ”

Sibeal, shaking, took a step back away from his infuriated nephew. “Murphy, please… I tried to talk him out of it. He was… determined. Seems like determination is a trait in the _both_ of you…”

“Take meh dere. Now.”

With a woebegone sigh, Sibeal nodded and gestured for him to join him in the car. Murphy climbed aboard, doing his best to tame his rage. He knew he shouldn’t be angry with his uncle, or with Connor, but he couldn’t help himself. This whole thing was unnecessary.

During the ride there, Murphy couldn’t stop shaking his right leg. Sibeal was already nervous enough, but Murphy edginess provided more tension than he would have liked. “I’m sure it hasn’t left yet,” he notified, trying to keep Murphy still. He didn’t ease up as he had hoped. “Have you thought that maybe it’s better this way?”

“No. Dat hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“You and your brother… well… it’s not exactly normal behavior.”

“And you have a fuckin’ _girl’s_ name! Aye, yer parents never told ya dat, did dey?”

Flabbergasted, Sibeal rattled his head back and forth to shake the shock away. “That… doesn’t sound correct.”

“Well, it is. Sibeal is female. No one ever brought it up, eh?”

“I… no!”

“Yer welcome. Now keep yer nose out of our business unless I ask ya to stick it dere.” He smiled inside. That was relieving. If only he had the same courage around his father.

The pier was one Murphy had been to before on their initial arrival to Ireland. All up and down the strip were enormous steel crates the size of buses, and waiting upon the water was an enormous container ship, which was preparing to depart. Sibeal didn’t leave the vehicle with Murphy, but waited for his return. Murphy wasted no time jogging up the immense pier, despite the astounded, perplexed looks from the crew.

“Whoa, whoa,” an older man said, grabbing Murphy by the arm, bringing him to a halt. “Who are you? You can’t be back here.”

“Did a guy in his late twenties, about my height, brownish hair, come t’rough here earlier? He’s my bro’ter.”

The man, who had a thicker moustache than he did an upper lip, replied, “As a matter of fact… yes. He paid some really good money to hitch a ride on the container. We normally wouldn’t accept that, but… it was a lot of money.”

“Where is he? Is he on de ship?”

“He should be. You’d better be quick, though, she’s about to leave.”

Murphy’s eyes darted over to the container ship, which was beginning to pull away from the dock. “Oh, fuck. Is dere any way you can tell dem to wait?!”

The mustachioed man chuckled. “Maybe if you pay what he did.”

Murphy launched forward, almost knocking the man to the ground as he sped off toward the edge of the dock. “Connor!” he cried in vain. “ _Connor!_ ” There was no response, and there was no way now that he could hear him over the roar of the water. He saw the dangling ladder on the side of the ship, but knew that he’d never make the jump if he attempted it. Though he was certain his brother couldn’t make out the sound of his call, he still wished to say one thing before he was completely gone: “ _I’m sorry!_ ” No one came out to investigate his beckons, nor did the ship stop from going on its journey. It drifted away from the dock, off toward the horizon, and Murphy watched as Connor floated out of his life.

He cared little of his onlookers when breaking into a woeful, gut-wrenching sob, and didn’t mind much if he bumped into them during his blinded walk back to Sibeal’s car. When Sibeal saw the waterfalls raining down his face, he knew what had happened.

“I’m sorry, Murphy.” His offered sympathy was only responded to with more quiet whimpers. “Your father might be able to…”

“ _Fuck_ ‘im, all ‘ight?!”

“Getting angry at me isn’t going to help.”

“I disagree. If you had talked to Connor, if ya listened to ‘im… if ya brought ‘im back home! Any’tin! Instead, you let ‘im sail off to who de fuck knows where?! Ya might not have liked what he and I had, but dat didn’t give you a right to choose fer us!”

“I didn’t. This was Connor’s choice, and his alone.”

_It’s not just Sibeal’s fault. It’s mine, too. How did I let this go on for so long? How could I do all of this to him?_

The drive back home seemed a lot longer this time around now that Murphy had nothing on his mind but where his brother might end up. No matter how hard he tried to keep his eyes dry, they leaked like broken pipes. When Sibeal dropped him off, it was with a great deal of regret. Perhaps if he had talked Connor out of it, Murphy wouldn’t be suffering like this now.

He parked in the driveway, and Murphy jumped out, the chirping of nocturnal critters loud and irritating. Sibeal decided to join him to speak to his own brother, to let him know where his son had gone, seeing as how Murphy had little interest in speaking to him.

“Where is he?” Noah first asked Murphy, who only glared at him. His fresh tears reflected the flames twitching in the fireplace. Startled, Noah, then turned to Sibeal, surprised to see him. “Is Connor all right?”

“He boarded a container ship,” notified Sibeal. “I tried to talk to him about it, I really did… he wanted to leave so badly, that I didn’t know what else to do for him.”

Noah looked once more at Murphy, whose back was pressed against the wall, his brow low, his eyes shadowed. “I see.” He had expected a lot of things from his sons, but nothing as dire as this. Now confronted with the seriousness of the situation, he directed his words to Murphy. “Ya didn’t see him off?”

“If I saw ‘im, he’d be here with meh.” His every word was laced with ice and poison.

“Oh, dear…” sighed the old man, taking a seat at the table. “Sibeal. Next time somethin’ like this happens… try callin’ me first.”

“Well, I…”

“Now leave. My son and I have to talk.”

“Noah, forgive me. I didn’t mean anything by…”

“ _Go,_ Sibeal.”

Sibeal nodded, then slipped out without another word. Noah glanced back at Murphy, whose breathing had sped up a notch, and whose fists clenched into balls. “Murphy. Why did Connor leave?”

“I t’ink ya know de answer to dat, da.”

“No. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Maybe if ya t’ought about it, it might make sense to ya.”

Noah had already thought on it, and had already come to the right conclusions. More difficult yet was the words he wanted to use. It was hard enough to admit it to himself. “Because of you?”

“Because of _you._ ”

“And how have I had a hand in Connor’s disappearance?”

Murphy, fed up with this conversational runaround, slammed his fist against the wall, knocking a photograph to the floor, causing it to shatter. Noah didn’t flinch, but he did turn pale. “Really, da?! Are we gonna play dis game forever?! Because it’s not fun fer meh, or fer Connor! Ya pushed ‘im away, just like yer pushin’ meh, all because ya feel a little grossed out!” Noah’s mouth opened, and Murphy’s eyes burned brighter, silencing him. “Da, you can have dis farm if ya want it. If Connor’s not here, I don’t care about any’tin’ else. I know dis means shit to you, but I love ‘im. If ya don’t like de _way_ I love ‘im, dat’s yer problem, not ours. I’m not goin’ on dates with random women anymore. I’m not treatin’ Connor like a stranger in our own house. I’m not goin’ to sleep in a separate bed from him just because ya want us to. We’re adults, so… I’d appreciate it if ya treated us like we were.”

Speechless, Noah could only blink a few times. Murphy’s eyes might have fooled him, but he looked ashamed. “I… suppose I might have been a little hard on the both of you. I just don’t want to forget who you are, and what it is you do. Sometimes… love can really cloud your decisions. Especially if you feel that for Connor.”

“Da, Connor is dere to _remind_ me who I am… not to make meh forget.” He felt somewhat relieved that his words might have had an impact.

“I’ve spent many years tryin’ to keep this life away from your mother, and from the two of you. I would have died for your mother… but I didn’t want her to die for me and my lifestyle. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it if I lost my family in that way. You have to consider that… and I don’t like this any more than you… that you or Connor might meet a terrible end.”

“And I’d work twice as hard to protect ‘im. As he would to protect meh.”

Noah, weary and forlorn, huffed out a dry exhale. “If one of you should perish… or both of you… how am I to live with myself knowing I have allowed you to go to Hell?”

“ _Hell,_ ” breathed Murphy. “Why would we go to Hell?”

“You know why. Do you honestly believe that you and Connor laying with one another isn’t at all a sin?”

“A sin in whose eyes, da? God’s, or yours?”

He frowned, but only because that was no easy question to answer. If it was a sin in God’s eyes, he had no way of knowing that for certain. He was no prophet, nor was he any sort of messenger boy. He delivered punishments with bullets, and that was his profession. Connor and Murphy might have had a different job, a different calling altogether. Maybe their closeness really was something destined, something that needed to happen. Maybe God wanted it that way.

_Absurd,_ he thought at first, but didn’t find the argument too convincing anymore. He tried separating them, tried to get them to see more of the world, tried to encourage them to spend more time with other people. They simply didn’t wish to. They wanted each other’s company, and no one else’s, whether they lived in secret or not. It was true that they had to keep their romance discreet in fear of the judgment of people, but God’s judgment was something they didn’t appear to worry about.

“I’m sorry, Murphy.”

It was a bit late for apologies, but Murphy was still pleased to hear it. “It’s okay. I know dat ya meant well. I just wanted ya to understand us, is all.”

“I think I do.”

“Ya don’t have to like it, ya know.”

“I don’t.”

Beside himself, he laughed, but his mirth was killed by the reminder that Connor was gone. “What do I do, da? I can’t just let ‘im leave. We can’t be apart. We’ve never been wit’out each o’ter.”

That was something Noah had become increasingly aware of. “Leave it to me. Okay? I’ll do what I can.”

 

=====

 

The aroma of Massachusetts Bay, carried by a low breeze, was not a scent Connor welcomed. That taste of salted mist only brought on a sense of fatigue, one he recalled feeling when swimming in it.

_Don’t even think about that right now,_ he told his memory, which seemed determined to cause him further emotional pain.

It had been three days since he had seen the farm, his brother, and his father, and already he felt the urge to climb back aboard the nearest cargo ship and sail back. Steadying his nerves, he whipped out a cigarette (his last one out of the twenty he had taken with him), lit it, and started walking.

Boston looked just like it had when he last left it, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to reminisce. When with Murphy, he loved the scenic strolls downtown he shared with him, sometimes while clenching his sweaty hand. Now the streets seemed so hollow and devoid of life compared to the bustling thoroughfare it appeared to be when sightseeing with his twin.

_I miss you so fucking much,_ he heard himself say on repeated occasions while heading for the alley he was so familiar with. _I guess that’s my fault. Could have stayed. Could have talked to you. Could have said “fuck it all” and kicked the door down while she had her tongue down your throat. Here I am, back in this filthy city, all because I don’t know how to handle losing you._

_All because I don’t know how to let you go._ _I guess this was the only way._

_It never would have worked out,_ a separate, more cynical voice nagged at him. _Not with da looking down on us like that. While here, we didn’t have to worry about silly things like whether or not a parent was in the room while we were undressing each other. Christ, I almost dated a woman._

Connor’s first, and only stop was McGinty’s. Where he’d go from there, he didn’t know. All he knew now was that a reunion with Doc and a shot of Irish whiskey were the only things that could relax him at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this chapter to be longer, but something came up today and I didn't have time. Assuming nothing comes up tomorrow or the next day, it'll be longer next time :P


	8. Chapter 8

The night was slow, quiet, and dead for Doc, an unusual turnout for a Friday night. He loved to keep his hands busy, to converse with his customers, to have a laugh and smile with every local that paid him regular visits, but this night would be a tedious one. He would have to spend the evening cleaning beer glasses again, close up early and head home, where’d he spend the rest of the night watching reruns and eating TV dinners.

Reaching for the third glass he prepared to scrub clean, the door at last creaked open. All speech had fled from him, along with rational thought, as he laid eyes on his visitor. It couldn’t possibly have been Connor MacManus. Last he heard, he and his family were living in Ireland, and that was no short journey from Boston.

“Hello, Doc,” greeted Connor with a weak smile of familiarity.

“C-C-Connor!” gasped the elderly, snow-haired man, hobbling over to him with his reddened face lit up with joy and pride. “My goodness, w-w-what are ya doin’ here?” Connor didn’t have time to answer before he was asked, “Where’s M-Murphy?”

“Uh… bit of a long story, old man,” Connor explicated, patting his back after getting tugged into an embrace.

“W-what’s wrong? Did somethin’ happen?”

“No’tin’ I won’t recover from.”

Doc’s head tilted, and his brow pinched, his expression stern. “H-h-have you boys gotten yerselves into more trouble?”

“No, Doc. No’tin’ like dat. Just some family drama, is all.” He stepped over to the bar, taking a seat in one of the stools. It was only now that he noticed just how clean the place looked. “Really gave her quite de overhaul, didn’t ya?”

“Oh, aye. Still not c-c-completely done with it yet. I’m goin’ to have de whole t’ing remoldened soon.”

One of Connor’s eyes squeezed shut. “Ya mean remodeled?”

“Whatever.” Now back behind the bar, Doc set a tall bottle of whiskey in front of his only customer. “Dis should help ya take yer mind off of t’ings.”

Just looking at the bottle had him salivating, but he postponed it for now. “First, I wanted to ask ya some’tin’.”

“Of c-c-course.”

“Where’s de nearest hotel?”

Doc’s bulbous nose scrunched, his lips curling along with it. “Hotel.” He scoffed. “Is dat really where ya plan to stay?”

With a shrug, he said, “Aye?”

He leaned over the bar and gave Connor’s head a light smack, making him flinch. “You can stay with me, if ya need to.”

That was a suggestion Connor was afraid he’d make. “I couldn’t put ya out, Doc.”

“No puttin’ me out! Yer my f-f-friend.”

“But… I…”

“No more arguin’. Ya’ll stay with me, and that’s final _FUCK!_ ” Connor waited before speaking. “ _ASS!_ ”

“Well, t’anks, Doc, I really appreciate it. I promise I won’t be a burden on ya fer too long. I just need to sort my life out a bit.”

“No need to t’ank me. I hope ya like dogs.”

“Why’s… dat?”

As he hung a clean beer glass, Doc had an unusual moment of amusement. “I have t’ree of dem.”

Connor glanced back at the whiskey bottle, grabbed it, and unscrewed the cap. “Got a glass?”

 

=====

 

The very moment that Doc opened his front door, Connor’s nose was smacked with the heavy aroma of mothballs and dried beer, two scents that only got more putrid when mixed together. Connor covered his mouth to conceal his cough, but also to block his nostrils.

Doc’s home was a modest one, small in scale, yet warm and cozy. His living room was a tight space, but large enough for both a miniscule television and fireplace. The reclining chair looked as though a shark had chewed half of it off, and the couch was not much better off. The kitchen looked just as cramped and looked like it needed a maid’s attention. Connor wasn’t a fan of washing dishes, but he already he knew he’d have to.

“Hans!” Doc called, followed up by a whistle. “Gruber! McClane!” Another whistle, longer this time.

Connor cackled. “Didn’t take ya fer a Die Hard fan.”

“All great men are, aren’t dey?” The thunderous sound of paws scraping against the carpet echoed across the walls, and Connor edged closer to the door, sweating. The last time he met a dog, it wasn’t a friendly one, and he was far from excited to meet another. Three dachshunds, one black, one red, and one cream bounded into the room from the kitchen, yapping and jumping onto their master.

Perplexed, Connor stared at the small beings, which didn’t look nor seem very threatening. Now that he had seen them, he had to wonder what the appeal was. In his opinion, dogs were best for guarding and herding. “Dey bite?”

“Oh, aye,” Doc warned.

“Are ya sure I’m not puttin’ ya out by stayin’ here?”

“Oh, Connor. R-r-relax. Yer welcome here.” Once the puny dogs were calm, Doc visited his kitchen, where he grabbed a beer for the each of them. Connor wasn’t sure he wanted any more alcohol, knowing how honest he became when inebriated.

“None fer meh, Doc. T’anks.”

“Suit yerself. M-more fer me.” He proceeded to drown himself in ale while Connor gave himself a tour around his living room. Almost tripping on a raised corner of the rug, he shuffled to the fireplace, observing the mantle. Upon it sat many framed photographs of a woman, some of which shared with Doc. In one particular photograph, Connor saw for the first time Doc in his youth, as he stood with pride alongside the lady in the other pictures.

“Is dis you?” he wondered, mouth hanging open.

Doc, now trembling, walked toward the mantle, sidling up beside his young friend. “Aye.”

“Who’s she?”

Rather than answer him right away, he stood and fidgeted, twirling his wrinkled hands. “H-H-Hannah,” he revealed. “My wife.”

“You have a wife?”

“I h-h-had one, Connor.”

Picking up on his now forlorn tone, he wanted to know more. “What happened to her?”

It was all it took for him to keep his eyes dry while speaking to him now. “She went as most do at my age.”

“Oh, Christ, Doc. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, nothin’ at all to be sorry about. She’s in a much better place den dis stinkhole.”

“How come ya never told meh dis?”

“Ya didn’t ask.”

Connor frowned at that, but in a way, he was right. He saw Doc as his bartender and drinking companion for so long that he never thought to look beyond it. When he and Murphy lost Rocco, he never brought that up unless asked, either. Sometimes it was better to suffer certain things on your own.

Wanting to change the subject before its darkness depressed them too much, Doc queried, “Ya still haven’t gotten married?”

Poppies speckled Connor’s face and neck. “No.”

Doc paid a firm pat on his shoulder before turning toward his couch. “Ya’ll meet de right one someday.”

“Marriage is… a little overrated, don’t ya t’ink?”

“Perhaps. I’m a v-v-very old-fashioned man.” The subject was obviously one Connor didn’t wish to continue discussing. “Are ya hungry?”

“Famished,” he admitted.

“Let’s order some take-out.”

“As long as it’s not Chinese, I’m all for it.”

 

=====

 

When Murphy last saw Fianna, he hoped he wouldn’t need to again, but now that they were in the same room together once more, sipping tea and waiting in anticipation, he felt that a few words ought to be said about their awkward attempt at a casual relationship. She wasn’t about to bring it up, and Murphy wasn’t one to let things hang over his head.

“I feel like I should explain t’ings,” he said, speaking for the first time in several minutes. His father was in the adjacent room, talking with Mr. O’Donnel, the sisters’ father, and his brother, Cedric, both of whom lived with the sisters.

Fianna, who was distracting herself with knitting a handbag and taking gradual sips of her tea, answered him with a casual laugh. “Do you? Is it really more than ‘you weren’t into me’?”

“Aye. It’s a lot more complicated den dat.”

“I’m not offended, Murphy. We can just let it go and pretend it never happened.” She focused on her knitting again, humming to herself.

“Yer takin’ it awfully well…”

She sighed, lowered her needles, tilting her eyes over her glasses. “Really. Is it so difficult to believe I’m a mature enough individual to deal with such things properly? You and I never had anything. We went on a couple of dates, not spent months together. Would you expect me to shed tears over a one-night stand?”

“Well, I…”

“No. You wouldn’t. It’s no different here.” Once her point was made clear, she once again lowered her eyes to her project.

It might have been better not to tell her, anyhow, Murphy surmised. There were more than a few reasons why he and Connor didn’t speak much to others about their relationship. Silence filled the room again, with the exception of the heated discussion emanating from the other room. Some words in Gaelic were exchanged, ones Murphy made out to mean that his father was begging for help. It was odd hearing him in a position of helplessness.

Another individual entered the living room: Deirdre, who at the sight of Murphy, let out a small gasp. At hearing this, Fianna raised her hand to her sister, a motion Murphy recognized as one of calming. Connor used it with him all the time when he was about to snap.

Curious, he asked, “Some’tin’ wrong?”

“No,” Deirdre announced, feigning a smile. “So… Connor ran away from home.”

“I guess ya could put it dat way.”

She took a seat beside him in a rocking chair, resting her folded hands in her lap, her posture straight. “I would have liked it if he had told me he wasn’t interested.”

“It wasn’t because of you. He and I… well… we… we fight sometimes. Dis time it was just a bad one.”

“Must have been, for him to leave the _country_.”

“Trust meh. Dis was kind of an unusual fight.”

Fianna suppressed a wicked smile. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with him spying on us while we were in your bedroom.”

The mug in his palms felt slippery as his palms clammed up. “W-what?”

First, there was a giggle from Fianna, then from Deirdre. “Come on, Murphy. You noticed him, too.”

“All ‘ight,” confessed Murphy. “But I don’t see how dat would have any’tin’ to do with him goin’ to America.”

Fianna pursed her lips and produced a small grunt. “Unless he’s jealous of me.”

Now that he was no longer drinking his tea, Murphy set his cup on the table. “I don’t see why he would be.” His nerves got the better of him when both sisters exchanged sardonic glimpses. Deirdre blocked her grin by tucking her chin down. “What?!” he shouted in a panic, uncomfortable at the sensation of being mocked.

“Nothing, Murphy. Nothing at all.”

“Really. Is dat why ya keep smirking and laughin’?”

“If there’s nothing to be speculated, then why do you feel a need to get so sensitive about it?”

“I… because…” He pulled on the collar of his shirt, clearing his throat. Nothing he said could convince them to look away from the truth. After all, there were worse things about him and Connor they could come to find out. He escaped the conversation, hoping it would cease there.

It took an hour for Noah to finish his talk with the O’Donnels, and they proceeded into the living room to join the others. Patrick, the father of Fianna and Deirdre, addressed Murphy before his daughters. “We might be able to help you.”

“How?” answered Murphy.

“We can help pay your way over there. You said he’d most likely go to Boston?”

“He might have, but… sometimes it’s kind of tough to tell with Connor.”

“If Murphy thinks that’s where he went,” Noah added, exhaustion in his every word. “Then I’m willin’ to bet every euro I have on it. No one knows Connor better.”

_I thought so, too,_ he thought with concern. _He surprises me at times._

“We can get you on a container ship, but it might take you a few days to get there.”

There was one thing Murphy wanted to know before he took their offer. “Why would ya help meh?”

Cedric, the younger, and more strapping of the two of them, voiced his opinion. “You sold your wool to my nieces, even though you didn’t earn as much. That really helped them out.”

Murphy glanced at Fianna, who was clicking her needles and wrapping yarn around them with steady concentration. She peeked up from her work for a brief moment to smile at him, then continued on with her weaving. Deirdre, however, hadn’t acknowledged him.

“Oh,” he answered, surprised. He had to wonder if Patrick and Cedric knew that he and Fianna went on casual dates together, or if she even disclosed such things with her relatives. “T’ank you. Ya have no idea…”

“I have some idea.”

_No, you really don’t,_ Murphy wanted to say, but thought better of it. “I just hope I’ll be able to find ‘im. I know Connor, but he could be anywhere.”

Deirdre snorted to her sister, “Try a bar.” Fianna giggled. Neither of them remarked on the frown now living on Murphy’s tired face.

Turning away from the two of them, he asked, “So, when am I going?”

“Tomorrow. Nine a.m. I’ll come and pick you up.”

He was abruptly hit with a dawning realization. _He didn’t ask why I’m not flying. What has da told them? Surely not why I don’t have a passport. What do these people know about us?_

“T’anks again. Dis means more to meh den ya might know.”

That night, Murphy was unable to rest easy. His mind was cluttered with thoughts on where Connor was now, whether or not he was able to afford meals, if he was settling for sleazy motels to sleep in, and how miserable he might have felt. All of it had been his fault, but he would set things right. He’d blubber, whimper, squeeze him until he collapsed, and tell him how incredibly sorry he was. He’d tell him how much he loved him.

First, he had to find him. Begging for forgiveness would have to wait.  


=====

 

Connor’s knuckles whitened as he clenched the sheets upon the rickety, worn bed in Doc’s guest bedroom, his face mashed into the musty pillow, and his voice hoarse and ragged. It wasn’t since Rocco’s demise that he had bellowed this hard, and as much as he wanted to hold it in, it could no longer be contained. “Holding it in” was advice given to him by his mother, by friends, even by Murphy himself, but there were times when it was advisable to do so, and there were times when it just needed to be set free. This was one of those times.

If it was one thing he needed since Murphy’s ironclad resistance to romantically loving him, it was to have this alone time to sort everything out, to vent, to release his bitter frustration. Had he known that the two of them would come to this, he never would have agreed to initiate a physical, intimate relationship with him. Not only was he now losing a lover and best friend, but a brother, and despite having taken lives, nothing in the world could possibly hurt him worse than that.

_What am I going to do without you?_ he reflected, blurred eyes focused on the dirty window across the room, watching the drifting headlights of passing cars as they roared down the road. _We’ve always been a team, but we were more than that. You’re the link that keeps me alive. How am I going to make it?_

Another agonized holler erupted from his wounded chest, one filled with equal parts rage and sadness. He wanted to punch something, some _one—_ _anyone—_ and he might even shoot them while he was at it. He would fill his unknowing adversary full of holes, three for every one that Murphy opened in his heart. He would even shoot Fianna if he had the chance.

_Good Lord, what am I thinking?_ he worried, imagining himself shoving a gun into her mouth. Just the implication that he could be so cruel and vicious sent a chill up his spine. If he had the chance, would he really do it? He, who was meant to be a Saint? Regardless of his fear of becoming like the very scum he intended to wipe off the planet, the satisfying imagery repeated in his mind like broken film. Half of the time, this cognitive movie ended with Murphy even more revolted with him, and the other times, he was impressed with his blood thirst and overjoyed that he managed to grow a pair and take care of business.

_I know Murphy isn’t really like that,_ he reminded himself. _Even though we’re brothers, he might turn a gun on me if I killed someone innocent. But what is “innocent”, anyway?_

The thought of murdering Fianna only worked him up further, rather than calmed him down. His saturated pillow made it difficult to continue resting his cheek on it, so he was forced to flip it over. Before putting his head back down, he heard a gentle rapping upon the door. Quickly drying his eyes, he sat up and forged a more casual pose. “Aye,” he moaned, clearing his raspy throat.

On the other side of the creaking door was Doc, leaning on a cane he used to walk. The shadows on his face masked the horrified expression it was molded into, but Connor didn’t need to see it to know he was worried. “A-a-are you all right, Connor?”

“Aye,” he repeated, resting his elbows on his propped knees.

“Goodness, I thought y-y-you were hurt!”

“I’m fine. Really. I promise.”

Doc doubted him, but he knew that Connor was withdrawn when it came to his emotions. “Ya miss yer brother.”

_Am I really so transparent?_ He grunted, and this was enough to assert his affirmation.

“I’m s-sorry, Connor. If yer havin’ trouble sleepin’, I could give you somethin’ that might help.”

“No t’anks, Doc. I just need to get it out of my system, dat’s all.”

“If ya’d like to talk about it…”

“I probably shouldn’t. It’s not exactly some’tin’ dat’s… easily explained.”

There was no sense in pressing him. His situation was clearly more complicated than he would allow him to understand. “I could let the dogs in. They could keep ya company.”

“ _No._ No… t’ank you. Really, Doc, I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”

“All right. Well, let me know if there’s anythin’ ya need. Try to cheer up, huh? I’m sure whatever is goin’ on between you and Murph, ya’ll s-s-settle it.”

If only he could believe that. “Yeah. Maybe.” With Doc’s departure, he lied back down, and tried his hardest to get some sleep, struggling to put all thoughts of Murphy and Ireland out of his mind. It was time to move on, time to start over, and time to change things for the better.

 

=====

 

Come morning, Doc offered to make coffee, but Connor was too polite to inform him that he wasn’t exactly interesting in drinking burnt rubber. Whatever Doc used to make the stuff, it couldn’t have been coffee grounds. Telling him he’d rather go out for a walk and visit an old café he was familiar with, he left feeling guilty that he didn’t stick around. Doc wanted to help him, but had no idea how to go about it. In all honesty, Connor didn’t even know how to help himself. All he knew was that his coming back to Boston marked a new beginning for him.

The café was overflowing with customers by the time he reached it, but the wait was worth it for the coffee they offered. He joined the mass of people in the extensive line, withdrawing cash from his coat pocket. The customer before him was a young woman, lengthy cream hair, and she was about as tall as his collar. He heard her order a small coffee with cream and sugar, then watched as she fumbled around in her purse for at least a minute.

“I’m sorry,” she told the cashier, panic rising in her voice. “I… I’m a quarter short.”

The cashier’s mouth tilted, unsympathetic. “All right. Next.” He waved Connor forward.

The woman trembled, stress thick in her voice. “S-sorry,” she said again, then started to back away from the counter.

“Wait a moment,” Connor called to her, and handed the cashier a dollar, who took it in surprise. She took a cautious step toward Connor and retrieved the coffee from the cashier who was still holding it. “Would ya like any’tin’ else? De danishes are amazin’.”

Her lips perked somewhat, but any hint of a smile was vanquished a second later, then, a look of dread followed. Her wide eyes were now vacant of gratitude and kindness, and her lower lip shook. “W-what? What is it?”

With a shake of her head, she took off, rushing out of the café as though walking on hot coals. Now with a light stammer, Connor ordered his own beverage, and rushed out as soon as it was paid for and in his possession. By now, the woman had managed to get halfway down the street on foot. Desperate for answers, he jogged after her, mindful not to spill hot coffee on himself.

“Wait!” he called to her. She looked over her shoulder at him, but didn’t stop. Connor could detect tears in her eyes. He picked up his speed, rushing after her now, and she paused when coming to the crosswalk, debating whether it was better to dart out in front of traffic or wait for Connor to reach her.

“Wait, I’m not goin’ to hurt ya!” Connor eased.

“What do you want?!” she gasped, rivers streaking down her face, no longer fleeing.

“I just want to know why yer runnin’ from meh! Do we know each o’ter?”

She dragged a hand over her wet face, closing her jacket around herself. “Your voice… I know your _voice._ ”

Taking a moment to wonder how on earth that was possible, Connor tried to consider that he might know her from a hit they did before. “Are ya sure?”

“Yes,” she choked, drying her face.

Connor didn’t move any closer to her, fearing she might back into the street, but he did try to remain calm. “Where’d ya hear it?”

This question was answered with an uneven sob. “Please… just leave me alone.”

“Where’d ya hear my voice?”

As soon as the light changed, she crossed the street, putting as much distance between her and Connor as possible. He knew he’d be putting both of them in danger going after her, but he had to get the truth. Whoever she was, she seemed deeply affected by him and what he did, and that mattered a great deal to him. He wanted to make things right.

“Please, wait. I don’t want to hurt ya, I really don’t, I just wanna know, is all!”

She stopped just in front of a immense furniture retailer, allowing him to catch up. When he reached her, she stared him down with more hatred than he thought a human capable of possessing. “You really don’t remember me?”

“No, I’m sorry, I…”

“There were two others with you when it happened. One had your accent. Another was more American. You…” She was forced to stop when another sob was imminent.

_Oh Lord,_ realized Connor. _I do remember you. Your husband was the hit man. We used a stun gun on her. Christ, did I really do that? It feels like centuries ago._

“I… I t’ink ya might be confusin’ meh fer someone else.”

“No. I never forgot your voices. I won’t tell the cops, just promise you’ll stay away from me and my son.”

“Yer husband,” Connor said next, lowering his voice. “Did ya ever find out? What he did?”

“What are you talking about?” Panic ebbed in her voice once more. “Please, just leave me alone.” Connor made no objections this time, allowing her to walk away, refusing to cause her any more stress.

_If she knew what her husband was up to, would she have thanked me? If what we did was right, then why do I feel so terrible?_

As he shuffled down the sidewalk, he sipped his coffee, which didn’t have the bold flavor he remembered. He and Murphy used to visit the café every weekend, would sit in and have breakfast together and have long talks, some of their most philosophical and moral conversations. Until those days, he would sometimes forget that Murphy was a lot more intelligent than he passed himself off to be to others.

On his way back to Doc’s place, he passed a familiar building—though it had not looked the same way he had left it a year and a half ago. Back then, it was called The Sin Bin, and now, it was an empty lot, vacant of a sign, customers, and life. For this, Connor had to pat himself on the back. The city was much cleaner and much better off without it, and he was sure no one missed it.

When he reached the street corner, he noticed the silhouette of a young woman standing on it, puffing a cigarette, watching every single passing car as a lioness would a gazelle. Curious, Connor approached her, avoiding shallow puddles on his way over. Seeing him advance, she fixed her shirt so that her cleavage was showing, and feigned an adequate smile. In the instance she turned toward him, familiarity awakened his memory. He knew her from somewhere.

“Hey, honey,” said the young, thin woman, her hair unwashed and matted, a light shade of violet covering her right cheek; a fading bruise. She pursed her bright crimson lips, fluttered her lashes, and leaned on one foot. “Looking for some fun?”

“Define ‘fun’,” answered an uneasy Connor, keeping his distance.

She rolled her eyes. Evidently, she wasn’t asked this question very often. “What do you think?”

“You don’t mean _sex._ ”

“What else?”

Baffled, he looked from her to the empty building that once was a strip club. “What are ya sellin’ sex for?”

A scrutinizing squint squeezed her bewildered face. “Are you joking?” He didn’t reply, so she sighed. “To make money, why else?”

“But it’s… it’s illegal, isn’t it? Ya can’t get a normal job?”

The alley nearby echoed her sudden burst of cackles. She tossed her head toward what once was The Sin Bin. “That _was_ my job. I used to work there as a dancer.”

“Ya aren’t glad to be out of a place like dat?”

“It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a _job._ And I got paid a lot. Then one day these crazy fucknuts shoot up the place. I don’t know why. No one does. They had to close the place down after the publicity. Eight dancers, me included, were put out of work after that. I haven’t heard much from them, but some ended up like me.” She took a drag off of her cigarette and brushed some of her brown hair back. “Tried to get a ‘normal’ job, but… no one’s really interested in hiring an ex-stripper.”

Connor wasn’t a proud man, but he couldn’t help his flaw of defensiveness. “But dey… dose shooters… dey saved ya from scum.”

Smoke swirled out of her nose as she scoffed. “Saved me? I have a child to take care of. That job paid more than enough to support my daughter. Now I feel lucky if I make half of what I once did.”

“I… but…” He bit his lip hard enough for his bottom row of teeth to make an indent on the inner skin of it. “Dey were tryin’ to help. Yer worth more den dat, don’t ya t’ink? Yer worth more den gettin’ a filthy man’s stink on ya. Yer worth more den to be ogled at. Men shouldn’t be treatin’ women de way dey did in dere. Dat place… it was wrong.”

Huffing out another agitated sigh, she dropped her finished cigarette and mashed it out with her stiletto heel. “It’s not that I don’t agree with you. But that’s just the way things are. I did what I had to do to take care of my kid. If you had to subject yourself to humiliation to pay for your child’s meals, I’m sure you might do the same. If you really want to give me advice, tell me how to convince a real establishment to hire me. Otherwise, if you’re not paying for any services… I need you to piss off. You’re scaring away the clientele, okay?”

_It’s a good thing that place is gone. We did a_ good thing. _I wouldn’t ruin lives like this._

As difficult as it was to admit defeat, he walked away, knowing he couldn’t convince her of just how “saintly” the Saints were. It mattered little how badly they tried to make a difference. Everything had a consequence, and these seemed much more severe than Connor had ever considered.

_I didn’t mean to,_ he convinced himself. _I didn’t mean to turn innocent women into prostitutes. I didn’t mean to put people out of jobs. I didn’t intend to cause that widow to live her life in fear. Not I. I’m a Saint. That’s what I do._

_I didn’t know da would have such an issue with Murph and me. I didn’t know Murph would turn on me like he did, see only the negative sides of what we had._

_So why then do I feel like everything is my fault?_

With a now fifty pound heart and shredded soul, Connor returned to Doc’s, unable to tear his eyes away from the ground. He entered without knocking, but he didn’t need to, as the yappy dogs sounded their alarm at his presence. Figuring a good dose of television would calm him, he switched on the set while retrieving a beer from the fridge.

The sofa creaked as he dropped onto it, the aging springs doing their best to support his weight, in spite of how thin he was. He flipped through station after station, trying to find a movie to watch. Other than Murphy, films were the best medicine for any of his ailments, especially depression.

Unfortunately, he didn’t find any. What he did find, however, was a news report. Normally he wouldn’t pay attention to such things, but what drew his focus to it was the word “crime,” as it usually did when it popped up in any conversation.

“…At an all-time rise,” spoke a young male journalist, one Connor might have seen on television before. “Compared to statistics from a year ago, crime rates have spiked a staggering ten percent. The mayor of Boston has gone on record to state that he’s giving the matter as much attention as it needs, but cleaning up crime isn’t easy. Violence is especially difficult to tame, and those cases of reported violence aren’t including rape, which has also increased dramatically in the past two years.”

_Change the channel_ , demanded Connor’s brain, but as a fly to a blinding bulb, he was drawn to the information. He had to know more about what state their city was left in when they disappeared.

Story after story covered crime after crime, and for the first time, Connor felt utterly helpless. When he and his twin went on their killing spree, they hadn’t changed a thing for the better. He thought that after leaving the place, especially after that incredible speech they gave to everyone in the courtroom, people would change; if not out of the good of their hearts, then out of fear. Fear was what they used as a weapon, and it only caused more problems.

His head sank, and he clutched it in his hands, pulling at clumps of his short hair. _This. Is not. Our fault._ No matter how many times he repeated this mantra, it never sounded convincing enough. _What if it is? What if we caused this? We wanted to help people, wanted to change the world, wanted to imprint ourselves onto society._

_We’re no better than the criminals we kill._

Now he had to ask himself a pertinent question: if he hadn’t lost Murphy, would he had found this out? Would he have gone the rest of their lives without the faintest idea of what they had done? Would he have continued to live in the delusion that they were Saints, and that they were not responsible for any of their own actions? Murphy had told him on more than one occasion that life was not a movie, as much as he wanted it to be. It wasn’t fun and games. Life wasn’t a picture show meant to enjoy with a bag of popcorn and a buddy.

There was no better time than now to take his life more seriously. Without Murphy with him, his every decision would be made on his own with no support or even a Devil’s advocate when the need arose.

This was the start of a new life for him, and that meant he had to be someone new. He wasn’t who he was a year and a half ago. He didn’t have the knowledge, the lessons, the mistakes he now did. It was time to change.

It was time to grow up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay _again_.  
>  I'm on vacation, so I had some obligations to fill, but now I'm free to write again!
> 
> I couldn't take it anymore. They had to reunite. It was killing me, man!

Murphy’s arrival in Boston was at sundown, the horizon burning across the ocean as though the sky were on fire, casting a dim glow on the city streets. Many thoughts coursed through his mind as he strolled downtown to their usual hotspots, but none as prominent as how painless this all would have been if they had cell phones, or any kind of modern technology like normal people did. Why they insisted to live like they were from the 1800s was a notion beyond his understanding.

Fianna and Deirdre were joking around when they mentioned Connor might be hanging around bars, but they were right. If Connor would be anywhere now, it was in a pub, drinking himself to near death. McGinty’s would be his first place to look for him.

Going down the filthy alleyway, the very one they used to reside in, he couldn’t help but become possessed by a multitude of memories, ones that he knew would better be left off dead, but simultaneously didn’t wish to erase. How did his brother manage to lift that toilet by himself? He had heard of adrenaline acting like a human super-drug, but he had never seen it for himself until that moment when Connor dumped a hunk of porcelain onto their assailants.

Just being reminded of it had his heart pounding. Death was something he didn’t fear. If he was to go out, he’d want it to be in style. It was his brother that taught him to stay strong in delicate circumstances. _Never give them the satisfaction,_ Connor once told him, advice for their imminent and inevitable capture by their opponents. _You look dead into their eyes, and not for a single second do you show them the weakness they so badly want to see._

He took Connor’s words seriously, and vowed to obey them, but things always changed when under duress. His own pain was tolerable, something he had developed an intense strength to overcome, but seeing Connor stuck in that chair, repeated slamming fists cracking his nose and jaw, he suffered each blow with twice the agony. Let loose, he was a killing machine, an unstoppable force bent on destruction. In that room, he was helpless. There was nothing he could do. And he had never felt worse in his life.

He recalled trying to keep his composure each time Connor was struck. He told himself not to beg and plead them to stop. They wanted to hear it, to know they were causing them grief, just as those Russians had sworn to murder him before doing away with Connor. _Show them no fear,_ Murphy told himself, but when looking into Connor’s eyes for what he thought was the final time, he understood that there were far worse things than being shot in an alley. Connor taught him not to fear, but couldn’t contain his own at the threat of his twin’s demise.

To be separated now, to be undergoing this much sorrow, was superfluous. They spent so much time hiding their emotions from others that they had forgotten how to feel when together. How they felt together should have mattered more than anything to them. Murphy was aware of this, and yet he allowed it to happen. It was time to set things right. He was tired of hiding.

McGinty’s, from what Murphy could tell before entering, was busy that night. The roar of voices rose in a crescendo over the street traffic (including the sirens), and the laughter and cheers were deafening as soon as he opened the doors. Upon entering, Murphy recognized several of the patrons, but none of them had stopped their binge drinking to greet him.

“M-Murphy!” gasped Doc, who could say nothing else in his shock.

“Ay, Doc,” Murphy said to his old friend, approaching the bar. “I know dis is kinda weird… but have ya seen Connor?”

“H-h-he’s stayin’ with me right now. At my place.”

Murphy’s eyes bulged, his mouth dropping open. “Seriously? Is he dere now?!”

“I don’t know. He was when I left.”

“Doc, _please,_ I have to see ‘im.”

Doc took a moment to serve a beer to one of his regulars, then returned to his friend. “I could take ya with me when I close.”

Murphy didn’t want to wait. He had already waited too long to mend things. “Just tell meh how to get dere. I’ll walk.”

He hesitated for a moment, but then took a pad of paper out from under the bar and wrote some directions down, his handwriting just as jagged and broken as his speech. When he passed it to Murphy, he snatched it and made haste for the exit.

“Was good seein’ ya again, Doc!” he yelled over the noise.

“What?!” Doc answered as the doors drifted shut.

Murphy didn’t just walk to Doc’s—he _ran._ Nothing, not even traffic lights or other pedestrians, would get in his way. He ran until sweat clung to his forehead and hair, until his ass cheeks stuck together, and until near cardiac arrest. Doc didn’t live too far from where he worked, but to Murphy, it felt like several miles. Connor was there. Connor was waiting. He needed only to get there.

His tiring jog brought him to Doc’s front door at last, a motion-sensitive porch light beaconing at his movements. Though his thighs burned and ached, he jogged the last few feet to the front door, swinging the screen open and knocking repeatedly on the painted oak.

“Connor!” He bent over to peek into the windows, but didn’t see his brother anywhere. “Connor, it’s meh!” He slammed his knuckles against the door several more times. Still no answer. “Connor, come on!” For good measure, he also rang the doorbell. The only conclusion he could come to at this point was that he wasn’t there. Now, he had a few options. He could go chasing him around Boston for who knew how long, or he could stay and wait for him until he came back.

_What if he never comes back?_ As soon as this thought entered his mind, he wished it hadn’t. How would he know if Connor was in danger? In truth, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t sit around now. He had to look for him.

_Where else would you be, Connie? Where would you go?_

His foggy thoughts cleared as they were illuminated by a dawning realization.

He knew just where to look.

 

=====

 

The confessional Connor crammed himself into was as large as any other, but this time, it felt half the size of a hallway closet, and was as warm as a sauna. Despite how much he felt like a baked turkey inside an oven, he sat down on the bench and slipped his rosary out from under his shirt. The wooden panel within the confession booth slid open, and Connor ran his thumb over the wooden cross several times, searching for the strength to let it all out.

“Speak, my child,” the priest stated through the wire mesh.

“Fa’ter, forgive meh… for I have…” Were they really sins he had committed? A year ago, he wouldn’t have thought so. “I have… sinned.”

“God is listening, son.”

“I kill people,” he blurted. As soon as it was out of his system, he took a deep breath of incoming relief. To say it was refreshing to confess this was an understatement.

The priest, stunned to silence, uttered. “O-oh. What kind of people?”

“Bad people. Well… people I t’ink are bad. Dey never really do any’tin’ to meh, I just… I just… pick ‘em, and I kill ‘em. Usually really important criminals and t’ings like dat.”

“ _Connor?_ ” whispered the priest, leaning closer to the wall between them.

Connor slumped down in his seat. “ _Yer not supposed to say my name!_ ”

Silence passed between them, and the priest cleared his throat. “Go on.”

Continuing to hunch down in his seat, Connor next said, “I know everyone t’inks it’s a good t’ing and all… callin’ meh a Saint and shit like dat. I just make t’ings worse fer people, fa’ter. I don’t help dem at all.”

The priest, with a weighted sigh, replied, “Sometimes being saintly requires certain extremes.”

“I’ve caused no’tin’ but trouble. Dere are people worse off now. People dyin’ dat I can’t save. What am I supposed to do?”

“You can’t rescue everyone.”

“Den why was I given de responsibility at all?!”

A sigh came from the adjacent booth, then the weary priest told him, “Sometimes… doing good is not about how much you do. The smallest deed can make the greatest of differences.”

Connor had to stop and ask himself just how often he committed altruistic acts that didn’t involve murder. The answer he came up with was not as many as he would have liked to admit. He loved to help people, and yet, had very little idea how to go about it.

“Dat’s not all.”

The priest figured as much. “Oh?”

“Um… my bro’ter and I…” He dragged his tongue across his teeth, thinking of the best way of bringing up something so sensitive. Confessing to murder seemed a hell of a lot simpler. “We were in a relationship. Ya know… we… we were lovers, I guess.” He heard a soft choke from the other booth. “Fa’ter? Are you all ‘ight?”

“Y-yes.” An uncomfortable pause followed.

“Does it say anywhere in de Bible dat we can’t feel dat way?”

The priest speaking to him required a bit of deliberation on that question. He had never been asked it before in regards to a relationship of that kind. “Well… yes. It does.”

Dryness coated Connor’s mouth, stiffening his tongue. “R-really?” he asked with a shaking breath.

“Yes, Connor.” Despite his revulsion, there was compassion in his voice.

“So… we could go to Hell fer it?”

“I’m sorry, son. I know it might be difficult to hear… but it’s a sin.”

“Oh…” He didn’t know that. How did he not know that? He had read the Bible before— well, skimmed it. Skipped most of it. Read maybe a quarter of it. Picked it up and flipped through it once. “So… does dat mean…?” He dragged a hand through his spiked hair, holding in his sadness the best he could manage. “What does it mean?”

“You’ll have to ask for forgiveness. But beyond that…” Silence again. It was unbearable. “I think the safest thing to do would be to avoid that relationship.”

_No problems there,_ Connor told himself. _Murph seemed like he was through with me anyhow._

“I love my bro’ter. Is dat wrong?”

“Sometimes even love should have limits.”

He hated to hear it, but he was right. Whatever he once had with Murphy, it had to come to an end either way. Perhaps coming to Boston was the best thing not only for him, but for Murphy as well. Noah had been correct all along in assuming they’d burn for their relationship. He thought that he was blowing smoke up his ass with his paranoia, but he knew more than he gave him credit for.

“T’ank you, fa’ter,” Connor said to the priest, one he had confessed to on multiple occasions in the past, and one he always relied on for support. Now, they had little to no idea as to what to say to each other.

Connor pushed the door of the confessional open, strolling with a shuffle, his head drooped toward his chest as he watched his footsteps, which echoed across every wall of the church. He needed a drink. He needed several drinks. And a bridge to leap off of after consuming them.

He didn’t make it halfway down the isle before he saw and heard the front doors open with a resonating groan. Someone poked their head inside to get a glimpse of the room, then turned their eyes to Connor’s. Their gaze locked, and an immense smile of reprieve spread onto the visitor’s young face.

Seeing Murphy, Connor’s every appendage froze in place. His feet were glued to the floor, his arms tied to his sides, his jaw wired shut. Days ago he would have paid anything to see that gleeful smile on his brother’s face, to hear his voice bellow into joyous laughter. Even now, it filled him from the bottom up with so much warmth and pleasure that nothing else in the world mattered to him.

Before he knew it, Murphy was getting closer to him—closer because he was running to him like his life depended on it. Soon, the words of the priest melted away from his mind, and within minutes, it was like he had never said them. Murphy was there, with him, happy to see him. Like clockwork, he spread his arms to the sides, opening them wide enough for his brother to fit in between them, and like a missing puzzle piece searching for its place on the board, he did.

Connor cared little for the nagging voice in his mind telling him to let go, as a more powerful one demanded he squeeze him, tighter and tighter. Murphy’s arms clasped his waist and clung for dear life as Connor crushed his face against his neck, feeling the dampness of Murphy’s quiet tears raining upon his skin.

“Connor,” Murphy whimpered when the intensity of their embrace slackened. “What de fuck were ya t’inkin’?!”

Connor, curious, had to ask, “What are ya doin’ here?”

“I might ask ya de same t’ing!”

Swiping a hand over his nostrils to wipe it off, he told him, “T’ought dat might have been obvious.” Their eyes met once again, but only for a brief moment. Murphy’s dove toward the floor out of shame.

“It was. But… Connor, ya gotta believe meh. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it.”

“Murph, it’s okay. I… I got over ya.”

These words haunted Murphy, ones that he feared he’d have to someday face. He didn’t think it’d be so soon. “Hear meh out, okay? I’m…” He couldn’t finish without choking into a dry sob. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” He sniffled, drying his nose with the back of his hand. Connor rested his palm against his cheek, wiping the wetness from them. “Ya have no idea how sorry I am. I’ve been sorry like hell fer days. Sorry and fuckin’ miserable as _fuck._ ”

“You and meh both,” Connor assured.

“I stood up to ‘im. I told ‘im off. I told ‘im I don’t care what he fuckin’ t’inks. And I don’t. I can’t just forget about it, Connor. I can’t just walk away from it and pretend we never happened.”

_It’s a sin, Murph,_ he almost said. He decided against it in the end. At this point, he could care less.

“N-nei’ter can I,” he said. “But I… I also can’t ferget how she was all over ya.”

“What?” answered Murphy, a sniff following. “Are ya talkin’ about Fianna?”

“I saw ya, Murph…” Thinking about it made him sick to his stomach all over again.

Murphy cursed under his breath, resting his palms upon his hips, shaking his head. “I knew ya did. I stopped her. I wasn’t even enjoyin’ myself. I just…” He pulled his sweaty palm down his face, trying to rub the stress and exhaustion away. “I just kept t’inkin’ of you de whole time. How much I missed ya, how much I wanted to be with ya… how much I’d rather have you in my arms den her. And it killed meh, Connor. I hated it. Now because I… I can’t fuckin’ man up and take responsibility fer my fuckin’ feelin’s, ya left! Ya ran away from meh! And… and it’s my fault! I should never have let ya go!”

Hushing him, Connor pulled him into the sanctity of his grasp and caressed his trimmed hair. “I shouldn’t have left ya like dat. No matter what you’ve done. I’m sorry, Murph.” He pulled back, and looked into his eyes. “I missed ya so fuckin’ much.” Murphy shut his eyes as Connor’s hand traced his face and neck, soaking up the affection while it lasted.

“Connor,” sighed his twin, heartache touching his voice. “I missed you too. I don’t want us to be apart. I don’t want us to end it. I don’t want any’tin’ but you.”

There were fewer things out of Murphy’s mouth that Connor enjoyed hearing more than this. It had been exactly what he had been craving and crying over for what felt like an eternity. “Me ei’ter.” He only got half of the second word out before Murphy’s mouth crashed into his own, a vigorous and passionate kiss that told Connor all he needed to know about how they would spend the rest of their time on Earth together.

“Let’s never do dis again,” Murphy swore. “We’re not ever goin’ to hurt each o’ter _again,_ Connor.”

“No. Course not.” He let the follicles of Murphy’s short hair slip between his fingers, a sensation he pined for in all of the days they didn’t lie crushed against each other in a soft bed barely big enough for the two of them.

“Let’s stay here. Here, in Boston. Just fer a little while.”

“What are we gonna live on, Murph? Bread and water?”

In spite of the circumstances, Murphy had to laugh. “I don’t fuckin’ care.”

Connor joined him in his sudden mirth. “Ya know… nei’ter do I.” Murphy curled back into his arms, where he was most comfortable, breathing in Connor’s scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and aftershave.

“As long as I have you… it doesn’t matter to meh where we are or what we’re doin’.”

“I’m sure Doc would let ya stay at his place. Dat’s where I’ve been at.”

A smirk snaked onto Murphy’s cheeks. “Doc? Are ya sure he’d be able to handle it?”

Initially, Connor thought he was referring to Doc’s ability to afford them staying there, but the lifted eyebrow and grin to match it suggested something different. “He… doesn’t _have_ to know.”

“What about all de money ya brought with ya? Let’s get a hotel room, eh?” Murphy took a hold of Connor’s hand, guiding him toward the doors he came through when he entered. Connor, higher than a kite now that a dead flame had been rekindled, followed him out while tossing an arm around his shoulders.

“Some’tin’ fancy,” Connor advised. “Some’tin’ special.”

Oozing with adulation, Murphy made a proposal. “Copley Plaza.”

Connor had to appreciate Murphy’s concurrent dark and romantic style. Their first real hit as Saints was in that hotel, and it marked an even stronger and more significant bond between them, intensified only by their carnal and ardent link with one another. Reciting that mantra beside his brother before pulling the trigger was just as gratifying as some of their greatest sex together. It seemed the best place of any to reboot their love life.

The Plaza was no hop, skip, or jump away, but they had managed to walk all the way there before, and while hauling bags of guns (and of course, several feet of rope). For the entire trek there, Connor never released Murphy, and Murphy didn’t stop leaning on him, no matter how many eyes were now on them. When Connor lit a cigarette, Murphy did the same, the two of them once again fused at the hip, their every action synchronized.

Just as it was meant to be.

 

=====

 

“Girls! Supper!”

Fianna had heard the call of her father, but she was much too distracted to answer. The search engine she scrolled across burned her eyes, which had been staring at it for a couple of hours now. She didn’t yet let on to her family what she had discovered, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to. Someone had to be absolutely sure of the facts before making any extreme accusations.

The headline of the article called them “Saints”, but to her, such a word was preposterous. Invading a courtroom, flailing guns around, preaching at the crowd and imposing their views on others didn’t seem like a very “saintly” thing to do in Fianna’s mind. Still, there they were: Connor, Murphy, and Noah MacManus, guns in the air, pointing them at innocent people. According to the article, the head of the Yakavetta family was murdered by them that day, and not a single security officer dealt with them afterward.

_Things must be very different in the States,_ Fianna thought, though she found that hard to buy. What mattered most now was the mountain of evidence she had just obtained about her most recent short-lived courtship, and it was evidence that, if used correctly, could come with a pretty hefty price.

_We would be able to eat real meals for once in our lives,_ she dwelled, wondering just how much she could blackmail them for. It had to be a lot. A whole lot. Sure, they were assassins, but from what she could tell, they weren’t very well-trained. Compared to the skill of her uncle, she figured they were quite on the amateurish side.

Closing her Internet browser, Fianna opened the desk drawer, then grasped the item she had placed beside her monitor: a beaded rosary, one she snuck out of the MacManus residence after finding it lying on Murphy’s bedside table. It might not have been worth anything, but even one penny was a pretty one.

“Fianna! Dinner’s getting cold!”

She wasn’t hungry; not for food. However, she would join them, and keep silent on the issue until further notice.

Something good could come out of her dating Murphy after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sorry for the delay!  
>  Again!**  
> Life once again got in the way of me completing this "masterpiece" of mine. My cat fell ill, I bought a new host for my [website/blog](http://thorncreations.com) and rebuilt it and cleaned it up and made it look a lot more professional, and I've been working on proofing my next novel (which, by the way, [also features an incestuous couple](http://thorncreations.com/books/never-mind-genetics/). Only they're father and son, rather than brothers). In other words, Connor and Murphy fell on the last rung of the ladder of important tasks. But, today I felt kind of bad for letting them hang there, pining so desperately.  
> As for how many chapters are left in this particular story... I couldn't even say. Maybe one? Or two? It's obviously going in a really weird direction now that I hadn't expected.  
> Enjoy!

The Copley Plaza was more than just a hotel—it was a palace. At least, that’s what Murphy always thought of it. Since their merciless slaughter of mob bosses in that very building, he had always wanted to stay there. On entry, they approached the front desk with identical nervous grins, strolling with a casual “we’re totally not hit men” swagger. No, they had never been there before. Why ask such a thing? Of course they looked familiar. They toured all over Boston when living there before.

“Would like a room for one night please,” Connor told the concierge while working his jaw to give the appearance he was chewing on something, which would only fool children and the idiotic, but Connor knew of its convincing attributes. Only a _casual_ person would chew on absolutely nothing. Killers didn’t do things like that.

The concierge blinked several times as though to focus his vision. First, he looked Connor dead in the eyes, then glanced at Murphy, who tried to seem more interested in the surroundings than on any sort of interaction. “Have we met before?”

Connor stopped his pretend chewing. “Uh…”

“I swear, we have. I know you from somewhere.”

“No ya don’t.”

Wagging his finger up and down, the concierge, whose name was “Tim” according to his nametag, said, “No. I do. Were you ever in the paper? On television maybe?”

“No! I’d just like--!” He calmed his voice when he felt a collection of eyes on them. “I’d just like de room. Please.”

Tim dropped the subject, then glanced at the computer monitor he was facing. “Name?”

“Fffff...” Connor didn’t intend to make that sound, but an urge to curse was pure instinct by this point. “I…”

“Castor and Pollux,” mumbled Murphy, contributing his “genius” tactics. “Dioskouri.”

A crimp clenched Tim’s brow as he tried to work it out in his mind. “How do you spell that?” Murphy spelled it for him, though even he was unsure of whether or not he did so correctly.

While Tim typed on the keyboard, Connor turned his sardonic eyes to his twin, a half-smirk growing on his face. “Really, Murph?” he whispered. “ _Face Off?_ ”

Murphy’s nose curled up, along with his lip. “De fuck are ya talkin’ about “Face Off”? Greek mythology, ya fuckin’ dweeb.”

“I didn’t read dere fuckin’ bible, okay?”

“Dey don’t have a _fuckin’ bible._ Ya oughta know better, with all de pennies we spend. Stop watchin’ so many movies and read a book once in a while.”

“Are ya startin’ shit with meh _already?_ ”

Murphy didn’t answer him. There was no need to. Tim finished up his typing, then looked once more at the brothers, who were now silent. “You wanted a standard room?”

“Aye,” Murphy established before his brother could open his mouth and spout mistakes.

“Preferably one with a really big bed,” Connor added. He averted his eyes when Tim’s grew a size larger.

The hefty five hundred dollar price for a night-long stay didn’t bother them much. Five hundred dollars hardly made a dent in their hoarded cash. All they cared about at this point was getting to the room, shredding any and all fabric off of each other, and going quite literally insane from bottled-up lust. When their keys were handed to them, they raced each other to the elevator, which they dove into as soon as the doors slid open. They had boarded the same one almost two years ago, and were just as anxious this time around as they had been the first.

The elevator doors clamped shut, and Connor lunged for his brother, attacking his mouth with his tongue as he grabbed either side of his face, which was already drenched in sweat.

“Ow,” Murphy hissed when Connor chomped on his lower lip.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, sucking on his lip to ease the sting. “I’m just so…”

“I know. Me too.” He slipped his tongue back into Connor’s mouth, and the two became entangled while Connor reached around Murphy’s backside and clapped his hand onto his ass, which made him flinch, but also moan in delight. “ _Ba mhaith liom tú mar sin go holc_.” (I want you so badly)

“ _Chaill mé leat_ ,” (I missed you) answered Connor, unable to stop caressing his brother’s stubble-coated face.

“ _Bhí sé cosúil le ifreann gan tú_.” (It was like Hell without you) Murphy snuck him a kiss every now and then between his whispered sweet nothings. “ _Ní féidir liom cúram faoi an domhan mura bhfuil tú ann_.” (I don’t care about the world if you’re not there)

“Nei’ter do I,” breathed Connor, the shaking in his knees unbearable by now.

With a resonating _ding!_ the elevator doors sailed open, and they removed their hands from each other for a brief, painful moment. Assuming they had reached their floor, they began to step off, but when someone else joined them and pressed another button, they froze in place, wiping spittle off of their glazed lips.

The older man now standing with them in the elevator gave them a good look over, squinting a bit. “Going down?” he asked. They shook their heads in unison, though they had to consider it for a moment. “Down” was a direction they’d go eventually. Another squint, tighter this time, overshadowed the stranger’s eyes, which had slight wrinkles encompassing them. “Do I know you?”

Connor and Murphy once again shook their heads, scratching their necks and ears. “We get dat a lot,” explained Connor. “Strangest t’ing, honestly.”

His eyes loosened, and they stretched in surprise. “You’re Irish?”

“Uh…” Connor didn’t like where this was going, nor did he like how tense Murphy now was at the indication that their heritage was a negative thing. He tried to calm his twin by putting a hand on his shoulder, but only felt balled-up knots there. “Aye?”

The man— whose brownish hair was receding on the sides; whose stature was above and beyond that which the MacManus brothers felt comfortable facing in a fight; and whose veins ran down his arms like disjointed rivers— huffed and turned away from them. Murphy, of course, was the first to remark.

“Got a problem with dat?” In case his tone wasn’t enough to show off his confrontational nature, he raised his hands at the sides, a gesticulation that Connor always construed as one looking only for trouble—and often times finding it.

“Not at all,” their new friend told him, not disguising the sarcasm in his voice. “We could always use someone to drink up all of the leftover whiskey around here.”

“You _mo’ter—!”_ Connor snatched his fist before he could swing it, ticking his index finger back and forth at him and shaking his head. Murphy tore his hand from his brother’s grasp, but relaxed.

“It’s all right. Hit me if you want to. You’ll spend the rest of your miserable, inebriated life paying for it.”

When Connor saw the perpetuating signs of reddened heat stirring within Murphy, he simmered him with gentle pats and grips to the arm. “Ignore ‘im. It’s fine.”

“Connie,” groaned Murphy.

“So he’s an asshole. Big deal. Don’t let it get to ya.”

The man turned to look at Murphy once more, their icy eyes meeting one final time before the doors slid open. “Nothing personal, you understand,” he verified, venom tinting his words. “I just think you’re all the same. No offense intended.”

Glowering, Murphy slithered out of the elevator with Connor at his heels. “None. Taken.” The doors shut once more on the man’s seedy gleam. “Fuckin’ prick.”

“Dere’s a million like ‘em, Murph.”

“Aye! So why don’t we fuckin’ shoot ‘em?!”

“Ya know we can’t do dat.”

“De hell we can’t!”

Connor didn’t argue with him any further, and unlocked the door to their room. Setting foot inside helped them to forget the incident they were just involved in. Size wasn’t everything, but in this case, it took the lead over every other quality factor about it.

“ _Shit,_ ” uttered Connor before he dropped onto the bed, spreading both his arms and legs. “Why do we need to go home, again?”

It wasn’t the room that Murphy was looking at. He said nothing to his brother, but stripped his coat off and chucked it over the back of a desk chair. Connor didn’t even have time to prop himself up onto his elbows before he felt Murphy collapse on top of him, and he embraced his waist, giving into his carnal desperation.

The first piece of clothing to come off was Connor’s coat, then both of their shirts. Soon, a small pile of clothes was being built at the foot of the bed, until neither one of them had anything left to remove.

Between Boston and Ireland, sitting atop Connor’s bucking lap was one of Murphy’s favorite places to be. Between a gun and a whiskey glass, Connor’s sticky, sweaty skin was one of his favorite things to touch. Between shooting a target and getting tipsy, that long-lasting pinch of physical connection with Connor had to have been his favorite sensation. All of that combined, however, didn’t come close to comparing to the sweet sound of his brother’s gentle voice whispering and moaning to him, reminding him how much he loved him, how painful it was for them to be separated. Murphy didn’t require a reminder—he was in just as much pain as he had been. Locked into position with him, fastened like they were glued together at the southern halves of their bodies, he was confident that nothing would ever come between them again; even a blood relative.

“ _Is breá liom tú_ ,” (I love you) cried Murphy as he rocked back and forth on Connor’s lap like riding a rickety see-saw. He planted his slippery palm onto his chest, gripping it for dear life, his nails raking across his pectorals. “So fuckin’ much.”

Those words were much more than music to Connor’s ears. It felt as though he had been waiting an eternity to hear them. Not missing a beat during his plunging and thrusting, he whispered a sincere, “I love you, too.”

“ _Ná fág mé riamh, Connor_.” (Don’t ever leave me, Connor)

“Never,” he panted in response, his hips still grinding. “Never again.”

Murphy’s smile never failed to brighten Connor’s soul, a grin that was just as enchanting as his adorable, boyish laugh. If he could possibly love his twin more than he already had, he would give up everything in the world just to show him that.

Subsequent to the mind-blowing culmination that ended their enamored tussle with a swift and heavy bang, Connor took a moment to marvel at how synchronized their bodies were with one another. All it took was for Murphy to inform him that his own climax was approaching for him to join him, hollers, moans and all. When Murphy fell onto his chest, wheezing and barking out a smoker’s cough, he stroked his back to soothe his overworked lungs.

“Fuck,” sighed Connor, throwing his head back against his sweat-drenched pillow. Murphy’s nose and mouth traced his neck as he gifted him with kisses.

“Amazin’, wasn’t it?” He could barely get these words out of his mouth without panting.

“Fuckin’ A.” Though his eyes were closed, he managed to blindly search for his brother’s mouth in order to kiss it. “De fuck were we t’inkin’?”

“Hm? What do ya mean?”

“Breakin’ up… de way we did.”

“I…” A sigh, weighted and abashed, streamed out of Murphy’s nose. “I _wasn’t_ t’inkin’. Not rationally, anyway. I should have come to ya when Da spoke to meh about it.”

“It doesn’t matter, Murph.”

“Yes it does.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter _now,_ all ‘ight? Just forget about it. I’ve got ya back. Dat’s all I care about.”

There was no point arguing with him on that point. After all, he was just as glad that the drama was over. They spent a few moments in relaxed silence, enjoying their time together while it was still untainted by outsiders. It would only last so long.

A shrill, constant ringing erupted, killing the quiet with its blaring tone. Following that, a red light blinked, one that seemed to be coming from the corner of the room. Murphy, startled, sat back up, then climbed off of Connor, doing his best not to hurt him in the process.

“De fuck is dat?!” Murphy shouted over the sound of eardrum-piercing noise.

“An alarm!” Connor replied, though Murphy had to take a second to understand what he said. “Fire alarm!”

“Fuck!” He dove for their clothes on the floor, tossing Connor his. They hurried their clothes on, doing a sloppy job of it, and rocketed out of the room, joining many others in a file toward the stairwell. The climb down was a slow one with how packed the corridors were, but the twins, as well as the other guests, escaped the suffocating scene in a matter of minutes.

On their first steps outside, Connor and Murphy seized the opportunity to hide in the shadows to avoid any more glances of familiarity, though they were sure they didn’t go unnoticed. From what Connor could make of the unfolding events, the hotel didn’t seem to be under the threat of an imminent blaze. There was no smoke, no broken windows, and no burning smell. It was possible that it could have been deeper within the building, but the whole thing seemed wrong to him.

Soon, the hotel staff had also exited the hotel, joining their patrons outdoors while they waited for the fire squad to arrive. The arrival of fire trucks was quick, much faster than Connor remembered the police ever coming to a scene of one of their mass assassinations. As they infiltrated the hotel, several of them stepped back out announce that all was clear— no fire had taken place.

“Dat’s weird,” said Murphy to his brother, who had the identical thought running through his mind. “Why would de alarms go off?”

A light dawned on Connor as the epiphany landed on him like a ton of bricks. “Dey didn’t. Someone set dem off on purpose.”

“Why de hell would dey do dat?”

“As a distraction, maybe?”

“Distraction from what?”

“Dunno. But I don’t like it ei’ter way.”

Murphy closed his arms around his chest, shielding it from a low breeze rolling in. “Aye. Nei’ter do I. Ya don’t t’ink it has to do with us, do ya?”

That thought had crossed Connor’s mind. If it didn’t have anything to do with their arrival to Copley Plaza, it would have been a hell of a coincidence that they happened to be there the same day. “Maybe I’m wrong,” he hoped. “Maybe de alarms are just defective.”

“Nah,” Murphy corrected. “I can feel it, too. Some’tin’ isn’t right here.”

“Well, whatever it is, we’d better get back inside. I don’t like leavin’ our stuff alone.” Connor then lead the way back through the front doors, their strides equal in time. Taking the elevator back up to their floor, they stood side-by-side in an anxious silence, praying that their little visit didn’t cause the civil unrest they had caused more than a year ago. The last thing they needed was unwanted attention from strangers.

The brothers returned to their room after leaving the elevator, which couldn’t travel several floors without squealing. Connor was the first to reach the door to their room, so he was the one to open it, and thus, was the first to notice something was out of place. He didn’t alert Murphy to it just yet, not wanting to rattle his nerves, but the first thing that hooked his awareness was that their coats had been moved; both were strewn onto the floor like dirty laundry.

“Murph,” Connor whispered, despite understand that the invader was probably long gone by now. “Look.”

Murphy didn’t require his brother’s direction to know something was amiss. “Someone’s been in here,” he confirmed.

Connor strolled to the desk, seeing that some of the drawers had been tugged open and closed only partway. Now unsettled by the disturbing sensation that was sinking downward to the depths of his stomach, he rushed to his tossed coat on the floor and checked its pockets.

“Oh, fuck meh,” he moaned in a concoction of concern and fury. “ _Fuck meh._ My fuckin’ wallet’s gone.”

The initial reaction from Murphy was to scrunch up his nose. “I didn’t know ya owned a wallet.”

“Well I do! And it’s missin’!”

“Why de fuck do ya own a wallet? Where’d ya even get it?!”

“Really? Ya don’t remember Da stitchin’ it fer meh?”

“No! What de fuck—” Murphy paused, then changed his tone when the memory returned to him. “Wait. I t’ink I do remember dat. Why didn’t he make _meh_ one?”

With a roll of the eyes, Connor sighed. “Who cares?! I had one, and it had my money and driver’s license in it! And dat cute little picture o’ya, de one where you were makin’ dat face.”

“What face?”

“Ya know. Like you were suckin’ on a lemon after gettin’ punched in de nose.”

“Ohh. Dat one.” He giggled. “Ya still have dat picture?!”

“Well, not anymore!”

“Oh. Aye.” Murphy’s head tilted in a crestfallen bow. “Why didn’t ya have yer wallet on ya when we went outside?”

“I…” Connor hated such accusatory questions, because he knew that whatever answer he came up with would be a lousy excuse. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot, okay?”

With a heavy sigh, Murphy took a seat on the bed, staring up at his clearly depressed brother. “How’d anyone even manage to get into dis room wit’out our keys?”

“Dey musta grabbed one from de lobby, or some’tin’. I dunno, Murph. Do I look like a criminal?” Murphy answered with a sheepish grin. “Don’t answer dat. A better question is: how did dey know dis was our room, and what do dey want with us?”

Though it was off-limits to smoke in the room, Murphy lit up a cigarette anyway, unable to handle going without one at this rate. “Times like dis make me wish Roc was still around.”

“Aye,” agreed a solemn Connor. “And…” He swallowed a hint of bile before it could reach his tongue. “Eric.” The heat from Murphy’s glare burned holes into his chest, ones that hurt worse than those caused by cigarettes.

“Don’t ever mention ‘is name.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just… he’d probably know what to do in a situation like dis.”

“No. He wouldn’t. He’d just come up with an excuse to kill innocent people and ya know it.” Connor started to reply, but he cut him off. “Drop it, Connor. I don’t wanna talk about ‘im.”

“Fine. Fine.”

“What do we do about yer missin’ wallet? We can’t just tell de police, or de concierge.”

For one of the few times in his life, Connor was completely stumped. “I dunno. Whatever it is we do, we have to be discreet about it.”

 

======

 

Loneliness was never a burden for Noah. He had been alone, _felt_ alone, for almost his entire life. When Connor ran off, and when Murphy followed him, he didn’t mind being left on his own to tend to the sheep. What he did worry about was whether or not they were getting themselves into trouble, or if they were causing some of their own. Of course, he didn’t like the thought of the two of them doing… whatever it was they did together, but as they had told him, they were adults—and he could control them about as well as a wild stallion with a fetish for kicking things. They were meant to be untamed, and undomesticated.

Just as he had finished up weaving a fresh stitch in the folds of two leather sheets, a design for a brand new vest he hoped to finish by the time his sons returned home (if they ever did), he heard the sound of a motor closing in on the house. Setting down his tools, he slinked over to the window facing the front drive and peeked outside, seeing a familiar vehicle parked there: Fianna’s.

“Hm,” he grunted to no one but himself. At this point, even he was tired of the drama that tended to follow in her wake. Things seemed a bit more on the peaceful side now that he didn’t have to deal with Connor and Murphy’s constant sulking.

After unhooking the latches on the front door, he yanked it open to greet his visitor. Fianna, strolling to the front porch with a confident swagger and matching smug grin, greeted Noah with her usual grace and fervor.

“Mister MacManus,” she said, looking over his shoulder into the house, then glanced at the barn. “Have they come back?”

Noah, suspicious of her obvious curiosity, announced, “’Fraid not. I’m sure they’re all right. They have a… _way_ with each other.”

“Yes. I’m sure they do.” Keeping her revulsion in check, she then asked, “Would it be all right if I came inside? I’d like to chat.”

There were many reasons why he’d let Fianna inside the house, but even more why he shouldn’t. “Why don’t we speak out here? It’s a lovely afternoon.”

Fianna, frowned, but followed his rules. “Okay. If you like.” She took a seat on the porch bench and Noah stood by his front door with vigilance. “Honestly, I wanted to see Connor and Murphy about this, but I suppose you could tell me a thing or two.”

“You have questions, do ya?”

“A few. Where do I begin?” Crossing her legs, she leaned into a more relaxed position. “When Connor and Murphy were living in America, what did they do?”

_No one asks us a question like that unless they already know the answer,_ thought Noah, choosing his response carefully. “Dunno. Packed a lot of meat.” There was a joke there, but one he didn’t make too obvious to her.

“Come now, Mister MacManus… it’s not as much of a secret as you try to make it. I know they murdered Guiseppe Yakavetta... and they did so with you.”

One of Noah’s deep feigned laughs ruptured the silent country air. “Good God, young lady! Where do ya hear such things?”

“You honestly don’t know how many headlines you all made back in the States?” She shook her head, that Cheshire smile still present. “I knew something was _weird_ about you boys, but I didn’t connect all of the dots until now.”

“Ya think so, eh?”

“Mister MacManus… the truth is that I like you. I like Connor and Murphy, too. They’re odd, but I like them. I don’t want to have to do something like this… but you have to understand how important it is.”

Noah had dealt with blackmail before. It was a territory that he wished Fianna wouldn’t tread into, as he also liked her and her family. “Fallen on hard times, Fianna?”

Sheets of ice glazed her eyes. “Something like that. You and your sons live in this tiny cottage from something out of the forties, and you live much better lives than we do. I consider that unfair, given your profession.”

“Perhaps it is a bit.” He removed a cigar from his sweater pocket and switched his lighter on. “But I don’t think you want to go down this path, Fianna. You don’t know the danger you’re putting yourself in.”

“Is that a threat… Mister MacManus?”

“I’m not the one threatenin’ ya. I can’t promise my boys will keep ya safe if ya try to squeeze money out of them. I can’t promise they’ll regard your father, uncle, and sister with kindness, either.”

“Considering we’re on the verge of living on the streets… that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” She never once took her eyes off of Noah’s face, and he never left the vicinity of his porch.

“How much do you need?”

“Five thousand will hold us off for a while.”

As he allowed a roll of smoke to escape his nose, he clicked his tongue in disbelief. “Yer pushin’ a pretty thin limit.”

“It’s either that, or the police find out about your career.”

Noah, not being the type to harm or kill any woman, regardless of what they had done, felt he was left without any other option. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Fianna, after making the agreement with him, left the porch and got into her car before vacating the premises.

It was now that Noah took the time to pray that not only his sons had found each other, but that they’d soon return home. They now had a much more complicated situation on their hands than a little family feud.


End file.
